Feral
by Velkyn Karma
Summary: Meeting the Feral Ones had appalled her. But Lethe was too strong, too proud, to fall into their ranks...or so she thought. Can one be saved from something impossible to return from? Complete.
1. Unwanted Comrade

**Feral**

A fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Summary: **Meeting the Feral Ones had appalled her. But Lethe was too strong, too proud, to fall into their ranks...or so she thought.

**Note: **I could not _believe_that nobody had approached the Feral Ones concept and developed it a little. So, here we are—I'll do it myself! This story takes place roughly between chapters 14 and 15 of _Path of Radiance. _For all intents and purposes, the Apostle Sanaki has extended the number of jobs given to the Greil Mercenaries, so they're taking on a few more slave trade elimination jobs before moving on to finding the liberation army.

**Warnings: **This one could get a little iffy in later chapters with mentions of torture and other unsightly things. If you're not so into that, I'd turn around now before you get started.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

* * *

"The enemy invariably attacks in one of two occasions. 1: When you're ready for them. 2. When you're not ready for them."

--Military saying

* * *

"Almost...a little closer..."

The rabbit's head twitched upwards in confusion. Its fuzzy little body froze even as its long ears swiveled in all directions, picking up the barest traces of noise with adrenaline-pumped senses.

Lethe cursed under her breath.

The noise was all the rabbit needed, and its quivering muscles burst into action. It turned and fled deeper into the brush, its little white cottontail bouncing into the coming evening gloom. With an angry yowl the female laguz leaped after it, her graceful cat form gleaming copper in the late afternoon light.

Too late. The damned little thing had slipped down its burrow hidden in the brush, and Lethe's cat form was far too large to follow. She hissed at it in annoyance and scuffed a few small rocks down the entrance to vent her ire before spinning back towards the river, returning to her half-beorc form.

It had been her own fault, really; how much more like a novice could she act, making all that unnecessary noise while on the hunt? Of course it would hear her, and run. Her own loss.

But she couldn't help it. Lethe was annoyed, and when she became overly agitated she started making careless mistakes. A dangerous fault if not careful—she would need to keep stronger discipline over herself in the future.

The laguz returned to the riverbank, perching on a large boulder to search for her partner. Carefully avoiding the river's spray—she loathed water—she lifted her face to the light air currents floating about her, searching for the human's scent.

_No. Beorc, _Lethe reminded herself, with another annoyed hiss. It was difficult still to regard the beorc she worked with as anything more than disrespectful garbage, but she was doing her best to cooperate with them, for her leader's sake if nothing else. It was important to set a good impression, especially when acting as King Caineghis' representative.

Certainly it was the only reason she had accepted this mission without putting up more of a fuss—or putting her claws through the beorc commander's throat. With a sigh, her mind drifted back to her briefing with Ike just that morning for the hundredth time. And for the hundredth time, the memory remained unyielding and aggravating to her every sense.

_Ike summoned Lethe to the suite assigned to him just after dawn; the spacious apartments offered to him by the Begnion Apostle were presently acting as the command center for the Greil Mercenaries. She arrived promptly, ever aware of her representative status for Gallia. By no means would she allow the Gallian military's reputation to suffer. _

_The commander greeted her with a firm but friendly smile amidst the bustle of the temporary command center. Several of his subordinates were clustered around a large, map-strewn table in the center of the room. Lethe could smell the sharp tang of both steel and horse that indicated the female warrior, Titania, as well as the unnatural, musty scent of magic and something not-quite-right that always seemed to hover around Soren. _

_She exchanged glances with the advisor-mage and barely managed to contain her contempt. Despite their alliance, she had never grown to accept Ike's tactician, and still loathed him for his deplorable actions during their first meeting. Judging from the colder-than-usual look barely suppressed behind Soren's unnatural red eyes, he harbored similar feelings. _

_Sigrun was there as well, the scent of armor and pegasus similar to but not quite the same as Titania's hovering delicately around her. She smiled politely at Lethe's approach and turned to Ike. "Is that everyone?"_

_Ike nodded. "That should be it for now. Would you explain the next assignment so we can get on with it?"_

_Lethe's sharp eyes noticed no change from the mage or paladin, but her nose and ears were sharp as well. The flicker of scent and the slight increase in pulse rate was as good as a grimace on their faces to her. Inwardly she smirked. The commander beorc was learning, but his blunt attitude still indicated his inexperience. _

_Sigrun had more than enough experience to make up for Ike's lack thereof, however, and she calmly overlooked the blunder. "Of course. You completed your last assignment most excellently—the merchants you ambushed were trading illegally. Bandits, if you will. Unfortunately, while you have taken care of one band, there are several others that are still causing us trouble." She tapped the map spread out before them all, indicating two locations; the first was mere hours from the city, while the second remained a day's journey away. _

_"These two locations have been especially problematic," the pegasus commander continued. "The places indicated are not the bases of either band, but merely the location at which they have been sighted the most. The Apostle would like you to perform the same duties as before—stop these merchant thieves, and deliver their cargo safely back to us."_

_Lethe frowned slightly at the order, tail twitching. The cargo they had taken from the last group of bandits had been _living,_ she was sure. She had heard movement inside, but the solid iron boxes had muffled any sound, and deadened her sense of smell completely. And now the Begnion leader requested more stolen, possibly living, cargo? The entire order smelt wrong._

_Ike apparently shared similar thoughts, because he was frowning slightly. She had to give the beorc credit—regardless of his sometimes-green actions, he had a solid intuition that rivaled the sense of even a few laguz. _

_"And are we to deliver the cargo under the same terms?" he asked slowly, fingering the hilt of his sword absently as he spoke. _

_"Unopened and unquestioned," Sigrun acknowledged with a nod. "These are the Apostle's terms."_

_"I see." The young commander thought for a moment, and then nodded. "We'll take these assignments on, then. I'll look into them immediately."_

_The pegasus commander nodded respectfully. "Your payment will be taken care of upon completion of the task, just as last time. And now, if you will excuse me, I'll leave you to the assignments." And without another word she departed._

_Lethe hissed low in her throat as soon as the woman had exited. "I do not like this job."_

_"I don't either," Ike admitted, still frowning slightly, "but I'll help Princess Elincia any way I can, as I said. And maybe, with luck, we can get to the bottom of all this." _

_The laguz swished her tail in irritation but said nothing. Hearing no further objections, Ike turned to his tactician. "So. What do you think? How should we approach this?"_

_Soren's eyes were already fastened on the map, lingering on the two indicated points in question. Lethe could all but taste the air around him growing colder as his mind slipped deeper into its emotionless, calculating, almost cruel state. She sniffed disdainfully under her breath but said nothing. Despite his many, _many _faults, the loathsome human mage was a decent tactician and excelled at keeping casualties to a bare minimum. _

_"Neither base is officially located," pale thing murmured after a moment. "We will have to spend time and resources locating the main base of each band in order to complete an effective rout and remove all cargo. With this in mind, it is inadvisable to attempt the further of the two locations immediately." He tapped the approximated location a day's journey from the city with one long finger. _

_"Why's that?" Ike asked, studying the map carefully._

_"We risk ambush," Soren responded firmly. "Marching a force to an approximate location will take a full day. Without a true destination, we will be forced to camp overnight in enemy territory. Even if we post guards, we still risk lives and supplies, without any payoff or reassurance of victory." His finger moved to the closer location. "Here, however, we can transport a full force in only a matter of hours. If we leave immediately, we can be there by mid-day, giving us a full afternoon to search with a large force of fresh fighters."_

_"So we attack here first?"_

_"That is what I suggest." The mage stepped back from the table, the look of cold reason never leaving his face._

_"It sounds like a reasonable plan," Ike agreed after a moment's thought. "Titania, can you go get the troops ready? I want to move out within the hour if we can."_

_"Of course." The woman responded with a nod and excused herself without another word, much to Lethe's relief. While she respected Titania as a powerful warrior, the scent of steel armor and weaponry was becoming overpowering in the rooms, however spacious they were._

_"I will alert Mordecai and prepare for battle as well," the cat added with a decisive swish of her tail. The thought of battle invigorated her. She did not like sitting around this cold castle, filled to the brim with annoying human nobility. Her calling was _action.

_"Hold on, Lethe," Ike called after her as she turned to leave. "I've got a different assignment for you." _

_One slender cat ear cocked in curiosity and surprise as she turned back. "A different assignment? But you will need me on the battlefield."_

_"I need you here more." Ike tapped the second location, the one a day's length away. _

_She eyed the map with a frown. "And why is that?"_

_"We can't attack there because we don't know where the base is." Ike glanced at Soren momentarily, and the mage nodded quietly in agreement. "So before we can launch an attack, I need to have a target destination. I need you to scout out where this other base is hidden and report back to me as quickly as you can. You can manage, right?"_

_Lethe scoffed at the question. "Of course I can manage. That distance is nothing to any laguz worth his claws. And as for finding the human base, I could smell their stink a mile away. I can find them easily."_

_Ike nodded. His face held an odd mix of a friendly smile and stern eyes, an expression only he seemed able to pull off effectively. "Great. I trust you can do it. And one more thing..."_

_The cat's tail twitched in impatience. She had been assigned a hunting mission, and already she was eager to complete it. "Yes?"_

_"I want you to take one more person with you on this scouting mission. Anyone else you like—but they need to be beorc."_

_The laguz was appalled. "You are not serious! Why should I take a _human _with me on such a delicate hunting mission?" Beside Ike, Soren's eyes narrowed dangerously at the obviously insulting inflection, but he wisely held his tongue. _

_Ike noted her emphasis on the word as well, but rolled right over it. "Why shouldn't you? There are plenty of beorc that have joined us who have good hunting skills, and they'll be useful in a scouting mission. And I don't want you going alone. You need backup in case something bad happens."_

_"Then I will take Mordecai with me! I do not need human help with this. They will slow me down and drive away any hope of a secretive approach."_

_Ike's look was firm. "Lethe, you need to learn to work _with_ beorc. It's important for anyone in my company to work well with other members, regardless of race."_

_She hissed in agitation. "I cooperate well with _you_ in battle." The closest she would get to admitting that Ike wasn't so bad, for a hu—beorc. _

_He grinned slightly, understanding her meaning. "Thanks. But that won't change my order. You should learn to work with more than just one beorc. Who knows—you could learn something from them. It could even save your life one day."_

_The hair on her neck raised in agitation, and she could feel her tail fluffing as well. Damn. She'd lost control of her emotions. She willed herself to calm down once more—not so easy a task, with that shadow-like mage smirking at her behind the glassy, cold shield of his annoyingly red eyes. _

_"I will choose a partner and notify you before we leave," she answered stiffly, flicking her tail as she turned to leave. _

_Ike nodded quietly. "Thanks. Good luck."_

_And that, quite suddenly, was that. _

Lethe sighed as she snapped back to the present moment, nose twitching as she finally found her partner's scent. Choosing a beorc scouting companion had been difficult—she interacted with very few beorc outside of Ike, and those she had managed to have a passing conversation with would be useless in the arts of scouting and tracking.

In the end she had chosen Zihark, the swordsman who had helped her escape Port Toah. As far as hu—beorc went, he was fairly respectful, and possessed enough skill to pass through the brush-covered, slightly mountainous region unheard and unseen...by beorc eyes and ears, at any rate. He was as loud as thunder to her sensitive cat ears and stank of sword powder and oil, but possessed an unusual grace unlike most beorc that made him tolerable—no doubt attained from his studies for the wickedly curved blade sheathed at his hip.

Most of the day-long journey had been spent moving in silence, pushing closer and closer to their general location with hardly a word spoken. Zihark had tried to strike up a friendly conversation with her numerous times, but while she responded politely her agitation was clearly apparent in her lack of enthusiastic response, and the beorc had finally taken the hint and fallen silent.

Their pace disturbed Lethe, and she had been obliged to slow down significantly to allow her partner to keep up with her. Alone, she would have reached their destined location by early afternoon at least. With Zihark in tow, they had arrived just as the sun was beginning to set.

Still, his endurance had surprised her. While not nearly so fast, the swordsman had kept up a steady pace, and did not require to rest half as much as she had thought would be necessary. Perhaps Ike was right, and she would learn something about the beorc after all.

He was now (she could tell from a light sniff of the air) off in a small forest to her left, bordering the edges of the river. While these woodlands were not nearly so majestic as the once-proud Serennes Forest—far more northwest to their own position—they still doubtless provided excellent cover for marauding thieves and cutthroats. And, apparently, also hid a selection of bushes with plentiful berries, which her partner was using to supplement his meager rations.

She sniffed disdainfully. A meal sounded appealing, but she wouldn't pick at berries and nuts like a rodent. A pity that rabbit had gotten away...

Zihark stepped from the trees, and she turned to face him with a flick of her tail before hopping off the river boulder. "Are you now satisfied?"

"Absolutely," he answered, once again giving her a friendly smile in an attempt to break the ice. "Those berries are delicious. Are you sure you don't want any?"

She curled a lip in disgust and hissed slightly. "I will not eat such things unless absolutely necessary."

"Makes sense," the swordsman admitted. "I could never get her to enjoy them either." Lethe cocked an ear in confused surprise at the statement, but before she could inquire further Zihark asked, "Were you able to find any meat, at least?"

She growled in her throat. "Almost...it got away." The rumble in her stomach, loud and unbidden, made her flatten her ears in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry." He hesitated, and then reached into his pack, withdrawing his hand to reveal a small cloth-wrapped package. Through the scent of oil and sword-powder she could smell the delicate, savory flavor of meat.

"Here," he offered, holding the package out. "I know it's not much, and it's dried, but it's better than nothing. I don't mind sharing."

Her nose twitched at the smell, even as her mind wavered suspiciously. The offer couldn't be genuine. Humans were never respectful like that...except Zihark did not appear to act like most beorc, and appeared to have a fairly decent understanding of her people. Their couldn't be any harm in the offer, could there?

"Thank you," she murmured under her breath slowly, as she reached out to take the cloth-wrapped food. He gave a small smile in return, and waited patiently as she unwrapped the dried strips of meat and dug in with enthusiasm. It was hard and salted, but it would do for now.

"So," Zihark began, once she had dug through most of her meal, "which direction do we take from here?"

Lethe finished chewing the last strip of meat and licked her lips thoughtfully. "That way," she answered after a pause, pointing across the river in a northeast direction. "The scent of iron and human sweat is carried by the wind from that direction. It is faint, but I am sure the bandit hideout is in that direction. Perhaps a few miles at best."

The swordsman glanced in the indicated direction. "We'd better look for a place to cross the river, then. It's too deep here."

She gave a low hiss, but nodded in agreement. The last thing she needed, on top of everything else, was to be forced to swim the river. "I have seen no place worth crossing at while traveling so far. It would be best to continue upstream to look for a good location."

"Good idea." The swordsman dropped his hand as he turned back to face her. "We'd better get moving, then. I don't like the thought of crossing this river in the dark. Too danger—_look out!_"

The cat started as Zihark's eyes widened, and he leaped towards her, drawing his sword. For a brief moment she thought he would attack her, and she crouched reflexively, extending clawless fingers. But then his free left arm knocked her aside—a surprisingly powerful blow for a beorc, she noted in shock—and his sword came slashing down with sickening speed through the air.

Something metallic cracked.

She spun to the side, regaining her footing quickly with the grace of the cat within her, and glanced down in surprise. Rolling to her feet was a broken arrow, snapped neatly in two thanks to Zihark's swift work. The now-useless weapon boasted an odd spiked barb at its tip instead of he usual arrowhead, and she recognized with growing anger that it was designed specifically to inflict great damage to laguz.

The missile had been meant for her. And, even more surprising, the beorc had just saved her life with his decidedly human weapon.

"You alright?" Zihark questioned, sparing a quick glance in her direction before tracing the arrow path into the woods. Both hands were on the hilt of that wickedly curved blade, and his muscles were completely relaxed to allow for absolute reaction time.

"Fine," Lethe hissed back, growing more and more angry. She slipped into her cat form with hardly a thought, coming to rest on all four paws, and dug her claws comfortably into the ground. She was armed now, and ready.

But something disturbed her. How had the humans managed to sneak up on her? All her senses had been attuned; she had been aware of every smell, every sound, every movement around both her and her partner. How was it that she could not have known...?

And then it was too late to question. With a sudden roar and a shriek of blood-curdling laughter men exploded from the trees on all sides, brandishing axes and swords as they streamed forward. Arrows rained down from the trees, forcing them backwards, and within moments Lethe and Zihark found themselves pressed back against the river.

Ambush. Trap._ Death..._

And then the roar of battle was in her ears, the smell of blood in her nose, the rage of the fight in her very being, and the hope for victory just beyond her grasp.

Only when her world went sharply red, and then black, did her battle lust desert her completely.

* * *

And there we are, chapter one finished. More were that came from—we're just getting started, oh yes.

For the record, I _do_ love Soren, but I love him _realistically. _He's not a lovey-dovey sensitive sort of guy (as most IkeXSoren fans would have you believe). Actually, through at least half the game I find he acts surprisingly malicious, or very, very cold, so I wrote him accordingly. There are certain people he gets along with...and there are certain people he doesn't get along with.

Now then! If you review, kindly tell me what you like and dislike, what you think could be done better, what you thought was done well. I find constructive criticism is a _fantastic _tool, so don't be afraid to tell me what you think. It really helps me grow.

Velkyn Karma


	2. Cage

**Feral**

Part two of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

* * *

"My dear fellow! Sanity is the one unbelievable bore. One must be mad, slightly twisted—then one sees life from a new and entrancing angle."

_--Murder is Easy, _Agatha Christie

* * *

Ike sighed as he finally collapsed into bed, groaning slightly when his sore muscles protested against even the gentle impact of the feather down mattress.

It had been a long, hard battle, taking back that bandit hideout. The place had been more like a fortress, and the bandits were surprisingly well stocked against siege. Not only that, it had taken them far longer than even Soren had anticipated to simply _locate _the base, wasting precious daylight hours that should have been used for battle. For the majority of the fight Ike had been sure they would drag into the dark hours of the night with their attack. Fortunately, the bandits had finally given up just as the sun was setting, but it still took hours more to survey and secure all the required cargo. By the time his company had returned to Begnion proper they were approaching midnight.

Then of course there was the debriefing with Sigrun, and turning over the requested cargo, not to mention Soren's daily post-battle reports that had taken another half hour to go through. Fortunately there had been no casualties, and most injuries were minor (though a damaging sword wound to Boyd's wrist had nearly cost him his hand, and put him out of commission for the rest of the battle. But according to Rhys, that was healing nicely. Nothing to worry about).

The door had barely shut behind Soren before Titania knocked on it, arriving to inform Ike of a summoning from the Apostle—he was to meet her bright and early to speak of their newly-accomplished mission and the resulting payment. The next forty-five minutes were spent discussing fees, bargaining, and court etiquette for the morrow, and by the time their discussion was finished they were past midnight and into the dark hours of early morning.

When Titania left, Ike bolted the door firmly and swore the next person to disturb him would be meeting the business end of his sword.

But now that he was finally, _finally _allowed to rest, he found he could not sleep, heavy as his eyelids were. His thoughts were running too wildly, swirling around in his head like one of Soren's windstorms, and they prevented any hope of rest for the time being.

He let his mind do as it pleased, and found his thoughts cycling repeatedly back to the crux of his last two jobs—apprehending cargo. Under normal circumstances the jobs would not seem so unusual; not even the restriction of not looking at the recaptured items was odd. It was a fairly common occurrence with his particular line of work.

What disturbed him was the fact that he _knew, _without a doubt, that the "stolen goods" he was retrieving were _living things. _He had been suspicious the first time of the cargo's heavy weight, and the unusual sounds coming from within. But tonight he had distinctly heard growling from inside those iron boxes, a noise that had sounded very similar to Mordecai's snarls in his tiger form.

Ike didn't like the implications of this disturbing piece of evidence. If someone was caging laguz, he would be furious if they had entangled him in their plots.

At the same time...at the same time, whatever had been in those boxes had not transformed back into any sort of beorc form. He had heard snarling, but no recognizable language. And when he asked Mordecai discreetly on their way back to the castle, the tiger had shaken his head in sorrowful confusion and answered that it was no language he recognized, either.

What could it mean?

His thoughts traveled back further, to their first assignment from the Apostle. Their first cargo recovery mission had brought them unexpectedly in contact with a pair of great gray tigers, clearly of the same build as the other tiger laguz. But they had not responded to the calls of either Lethe or Mordecai, nor had they changed back into a recognizable half-beorc form. They had acted sick, crazed, as though they had regressed...

What did it all_ mean? _

Something was very wrong here, of that much he was certain. There was more to this situation than was on the surface, and something was going on with these bandit groups that he didn't yet understand. Two had been stopped at least, but there were other groups out there, one of which he had sent two of his soldiers into unprepared.

He frowned at that thought. Would they be okay? He knew both Lethe and Zihark were capable fighters, each able to hold their own on the battlefield. They were invaluable and experienced, but they were going into something that Ike was sure, now, was far bigger than they had first thought. Had he sent them into more danger than they could handle? Had he sent them into death?

His thoughts churned with worry, but after a few seconds he forced himself to calm down. There was little he could do to change the situation now. As Soren would have pointed out all too matter-of-factly, they were already separated; it was too late to change his strategy. All he could do was trust the two of them and hope for the best.

And, he thought after a moment with a yawn, he could get some sleep. He would be no good to them as an exhausted, stumbling commander. If they were going to need his help in the next few days he would need to be as strong as possible.

His eyes slipped closed with a sigh as darkness finally reached out for him. It caressed him gently, soothingly, singing his thoughts into a slowed, sluggish pace, and his last flicker of worry withered away as he sank into a deeply needed rest.

* * *

Lethe had always imagined that waking from being knocked unconscious would be something like waking from sleep; slowly, groggily, with her senses gradually returning to her one by one. She certainly never expected to awake with a perfect _snap, _nor did she ever think she would become aware of several facts nearly simultaneously.

She was instantly aware that she was in her half-beorc form once more, and no longer a cat. She also knew almost immediately that she was cold—probably from laying on what felt like frigid stones—and that there were sharp metal cuffs around her ankles and wrists, and a collar at her neck.

She was also aware that she wasn't alone.

Her ears twitched slightly as the murmur of nearby voices assaulted them, but she willed them to still at once. She did not want her captors to realize she was conscious. Whatever her situation, she wold take pains to keep whatever advantages she could lay claim to.

"--don't understand it," the first voice, a low, gruff one, said in annoyance. "The damn thing has been asleep almost the whole night. Who knew sub-humans were so lazy?"

Lethe bit back an angry hiss. _Don't give yourself away...bear it..._

The second voice tsked in annoyance as well. "Idiot. We already know sub-humans are lazy. Just like they're stupid, inferior, and worth little more than fur coats." Lethe bit back another low growl and resisted the urge to flatten her ears. The second voice was low and oily, and she hated it immediately.

"Hah!" the first voice answered now, sounding genuinely amused. "You got that right. Except for your little pet project here, of course."

"Far more _productive _than fur coats, certainly," the second voice agreed. "And you can still get those once they're useless, too...but they're much more interesting as research." There was a loud snicker. "And at this rate my research will outshine even Izuka's!"

Research? This man treated her fellow laguz as _research? _Containing her anger was growing harder by the minute. Instead Lethe concentrated her efforts on cracking open one eye, slowly and carefully, to survey her surroundings.

The laguz was immediately aware of being in a stone cell, with thick metal bars creating one barrier and three stone walls completing her cage. The cell was surprisingly spacious—perhaps enough to admit two transformed tigers—but the stench of decay and something very _wrong_ was overwhelming to her senses all the same.

Her eye roved carefully, and after a moment she spotted her captors. One thick-muscled, massive man with a heavy ax over one shoulder stood by her cage, his back to her. He smelled terrible. She wished she could close her nose, turn off her sense of smell somehow--at this moment she would even willingly trade senses with a common beorc to make the stench go away.

The second man did not smell quite so disgusting, instead bearing the odors of musty magic and...herbs? Potions? Something else, not quite right...but his looks well made up for his lack of disgusting scents. The man was pale, his skin waxen and sick looking, his hair as oily as his voice had sounded. Lethe had heard some of the beorc use the expression_ like death warmed over, _and she imagined this was exactly the sort of situation they were referring to.

Her eye slipped closed as she faked sleep once more, thinking carefully. Her odds weren't good. She could transform, but she was shackled still. And while neither man looked to present much of a challenge—mage or no—she would not fare well against either of them with her movement all but non-existent.

How had she gotten here, anyway? Everything was a blur before this moment. She couldn't understand why she was in chains on an unfamiliar stone floor with stinking, disgusting humans glaring at her like some sort of _pet..._

_A flash of steel, a yowl of pain, a scream of surprise--_

She started as the memory returned to her. The voices of her captives halted for a moment, but, apparently deducing she had simply twitched in her sleep, they returned to conversation.

A close call, Lethe thought grimly. She would need to be more careful. But she also needed answers. Moving carefully, the cat probed the suddenly returned memory further, hunting for some sort of explanation.

It came back to her in a flurry of images, almost too fast for her to keep up with. She and Zihark had been backed up to the river, and the situation had seemed all but hopeless. Yet they fought on anyway, clawing, slashing, biting and stabbing any foul-smelling bandit that came too close.

But they had taken damage, and not lightly. She recalled the grimace of pain on her companion's face as a sword slashed deeply into Zihark's thigh. She remembered her own hissing scream when an ax-blade had razored up the side of her ribs. It still throbbed, if she thought about it, although the wound appeared to be healed now.

Worse still, she remembered the nets. They had been thrown over her repeatedly, entangling her fine paws and lashing tail, lowering her mobility. She had kicked and scratched and bitten but to no avail, for the fabrics would not come lose. Zihark had attempted to cut her out several times, but turning to aid her had left his own back open, and he had taken too much damage.

Then came the arrows; light and flexible, not enough to damage her, but certainly enough to administer poisons. The dull, sleepy sensation that overwhelmed her struggling limbs floated hazily back into Lethe's mind.

Her memories grew fewer, spotted. She remembered slipping back subconsciously into her half-beorc form, struggling against oddly strong human hands as they bound her. She remembered, with surprisingly sudden clarity, Zihark crashing to the ground, bleeding from a dozen places. The laughter emanating from the surviving bandits as they heaved his unconscious body into the river to drown still rang in her sensitive ears.

She hissed low in her throat, too low for even her captives to hear. She did not like most beorc, but that man had done his best to help her, and had most likely died for it. She did not like to see her comrades die. She would kill those that had killed him.

She needed a plan.

It came to her suddenly, and she acted on it immediately. Groaning softly, she began to shift, pretending to finally come to. Her captors would think her groggy and confused, but she would be wide awake and ready for them. The cat in her nearly purred at the thought of ripping the throats from her prey.

"Look it that," the gruff ax-wielder muttered suddenly. "Looks like the pretty kitty's finally waking up." There was a definite sneer evident in even his voice, but Lethe did not allow herself to be distracted.

"It does seem that way," the second man answered in agreement. "Korren, make sure my pet is ready for action."

The first man, Korren apparently, gave a horrified yelp. "You actually think I'd go _near _that thing? Yer crazy!"

The mage tsked. "It is well trained, I assure you. It certainly won't attack."

"I ain't goin' near that beast with a twenty-foot pole!"

"Suit yourself," the second man answered with a sigh. "Call the other men, then." Lethe could hear footsteps pacing to a nearby cell, followed moments later by the clatter of chains and a very distinct, oddly familiar, rumble.

_No distractions. _Regardless of this new development she would see her plan through. With another theatrical groan, Lethe allowed her eyes to flutter open slowly, groggily, and squinted as though the dim lighting hurt her newly-sensitive eyes.

"Good morning, and welcome," came the second voice, and the mage stepped into view at the bars of her cell once more. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my latest subject." He smirked. "Or it would be, if you were anything more than a worthless beast."

Lethe hissed and twitched her tail angrily, but carefully did not use too much energy. She was just waking from being unconscious; it wouldn't do to blow her cover now.

"Feisty, you are," the man continued with a satisfied nod. "Most of them are in the beginning. I assure you I will break you of that habit soon...and then strengthen it tenfold, in my favor."

The laguz glared at him. "What--"

"Am I doing here? Who am I?" the man finished for her, with a dark smirk. "Do forgive me for predicting your questions, but I have heard them countless hundreds of times by now. The answers are the following: I work here, performing various experimentations on the sub-human structure and mind. You may simply call me the Overseer."

She bared her teeth at him, growled low in her throat. "I will call you _filth. _That is all you are." _Careful, careful...don't overdo it..._

"Such a mouth you have," the man answered, seemingly bored. "That's good, though. The fighters last longer in experimentation. They provide such interesting results." He smiled, and then turned his head as four other bandits joined him, along with Korren.

"She's got some bite to her, huh?" Korren asked slowly, frowning a little. His size, and the way the other men shied away from his presence, marked him as the leader.

"Indeed. This should be most interesting."

"I still think we should sell her," Korren said, scowling. "Nice coloring. Rarely get a female sub-human like that. Great selling price on the market."

"Don't be an idiot," the Overseer snapped in response. "When my experiments are perfected the selling price of the Feral will be ten times any amount your petty slave sales draw now. Think about it, Korren—mindless, perfectly obeying beasts, _always _beasts, able to do any labor given to them at any time with no regards to their transformation cycles." The mage sniffed. "And you will be the centerpiece of the Feral market."

Korren still looked doubtful, but the enticing offer of ten times his current influx of gold was too attractive for him to turn down. "Fine. Keep practicing, then."

Lethe scowled. "I am right here," she snarled at them, voice hot. "Do not speak of me as an invisible _object._"

"I will," the Overseer answered simply. "That is all you are. Now then." He nodded to the four smaller bandits even as he unlocked Lethe's cell. "I wish to make a few tests while she is awake. Restrain her, if you will."

This was it, the cat realized with carefully contained excitement. As soon as they entered, she would teach them a lesson they would not soon forget. Teach them to treat _her _like an object...stupid, foolish, disgusting _humans..._

The bandits looked doubtful, however, and took no steps forward. Impatient, the Overseer snapped at them. "Hurry! I do not have all day!"

"She'll attack," one of the bandits muttered in dull confusion. "Kill us."

"She is restrained," the Overseer responded sharply, "and exhausted from waking. She poses no threat. Now move, before _I _become a threat to you!"

The four cutthroats still looked dubious, but their fear of the unrestrained Overseer clearly overrode their fear of the restrained and supposedly weak laguz, and they lumbered into the cell with outstretched hands to hold Lethe down.

She was ready. Even as the first man came within reach of her, she melted like quicksilver into her cat form, and with a battle hiss leaped as far upward as her chains would allow. Her fangs sank into the bandit's throat with a speed unmatched by her human attackers, and her shackled claws dug into his flesh as well. He tasted just as bad as he smelt, but Lethe did not allow that to distract her. With a vicious jerk she ripped the man's trachea free.

The cutthroat fell to the ground with an abruptly cut off scream, and his fellow companions jumped back in surprise. Now on the offensive, the cat leaped for the next with a growl—and crashed to the ground as her shackles reached their limit, tugging painfully at her now-furry ankles.

"Restrain her!" the Overseer shrieked angrily, and the bandits needed no further encouragement. With Lethe down, the three mean dashed forward, crashing down on top of her.

Their heavy weights were too much for the slender cat, and she yowled angrily, thrashing to sink her natural weapons into any part of their skin she could find. Bucking and twisting wildly the laguz tried to free herself, but the humans held on gamely, knowing their protection rested upon keeping the fierce captive restrained.

Through the haze of battle Lethe's ears twitched at the sound of a painful, high-pitched whine. She froze, startled by the aggravating keen, and the bandits used her hesitation to secure a firmer hold around her neck and body, digging their fingers roughly into her fur.

And then came a far more familiar and welcome sound: the low, warning growl of a laguz, quite close by. With a surge of relief and another sharp twist, the cat managed to jerk her head in the direction of the cell's door, writhing angrily under the pile of restraining bandits as she searched.

The Overseer was cowering back in the shadows, just barely within her wild and limited range of vision, but the object of his fear was well within focus. A massive tiger laguz, slightly larger than Mordecai's beast form, was pacing around the bars of the cell to its entrance. He growled fiercely as he moved in the bandits' directions. The tiger's fur was matted and appeared sickly, its color dulled to a nearly gray tone. But his muscles bulged as powerfully as ever, and his wicked fangs gleamed even in the dull prison light.

"Help me!" Lethe ordered immediately, communicating in the growls and snarls of the beast tongue. She struggled beneath the overpowering weight of the bandits, clawing at them angrily. Her strength was almost out; if this kept up too much longer she would be forced back to her half-beorc form from exhaustion. "Hurry!"

Another keening whistle ripped through her sensitive ears, and the tiger snarled lowly as well, shaking its head in frustration. Behind him, the Overseer yelled loudly, "Restrain her! Hold!"

"Hurry!" Lethe growled again, as the tiger recovered from the wailing, horrible noise. "We must escape _now!_"

The tiger roared loudly—_odd, _Lethe thought with a frown, _that he hasn't responded in our language yet—_and launched itself forward. His huge paws ate the distance between the cell doorway and her captors in a single bound, knocking aside the dead bandit with one angry swipe of a forelimb. The bandits screamed in surprise and backpedaled, crawling away to the corners of the cell in an effort to get away from the sub-humans they so despised.

"Yes!" Lethe hissed to him, standing shakily on still-furred limbs. She had a little energy yet...perfect. "Now hurry, break these chains so we may--"

The blow came without warning and she crashed to her side in pained surprise, mind reeling. Shocked, she struggled to regain her feet, her spinning vision unable to focus properly on the world around her, but she was sure...had that tiger really _struck _her?

Another low growl reached her ears, and she called to him with the snarls of their tongue. "What are you doing?! I am laguz! An ally!"

The tiger did not respond, but she could hear the laguz pacing around her. Still confused, she focused her hazy vision on the massive gray beast, mind searching frantically for an answer. Perhaps he had been a slave, and never learned the beast tongue. He certainly looked older than twenty years, so she supposed it was possible.

Switching to the common human language (a difficult feat as a cat, given the shape of her form's jaws and tongue) Lethe called out once more. "Did you hear me? I am Gallian! An ally! Why do you atta--"

Another stunning blow crashed through her senses, and she collapsed to the ground once more. Shocked to her core, Lethe realized with a sudden sense of horror that this time, she would not be getting up. The tiger had placed one massive paw on her torso, and fixed his huge jaws calmly around her neck and head. If she moved, his powerful maw would crush her skull and break her neck.

"Wh...what are...friend..." she hissed weakly, mind swimming with both mental and physical pain. This was _wrong. _And now that he was this close she could smell, almost sense, something inherently _not right_ around her fellow laguz.

A soft click of boots reached her ears, and moments later the Overseer approached with a small chuckle. "Ripper is no friend of yours," the loathsome man said with a sneer. Out of the corner of her eye, Lethe saw him raise a small silver whistle to his lips. Another high-pitched keen screamed through her senses, and she felt the tiger holding her shudder slightly.

"Drop," the mage said sharply, and like a trained animal the tiger released Lethe's head from his jaws immediately. "Hold," the man added, and the tiger's paw pressed harder on the cat's back, rolling her onto her side. Five dagger-like claws extended from his paw, prickling gently but warningly at her skin. Movement, she realized, would mean she would be gutted instantly.

The Overseer smirked at her and nodded slightly to the tiger. "Very good," he said again, and to Lethe's supreme disgust and horror, he reached out to pat the tiger lightly on its massive head. The beast growled warningly, but the man seemed unafraid of the warning tone, instead chuckling as though vastly amused.

"You will have to forgive me for such treatment," the disgusting human continued, speaking casually. "I would have you knocked out again, but unfortunately I need you _conscious _for these first few tests. It is vital, you see, to have a control when performing such experiments. I need to know _exactly _how much you can take."

"What...what did you..." Lethe tried to gasp out, hissing painfully under her breath as the tiger's claws dug deeper into her flesh. The pressure was too much, and the staggering blows from the creature still left her winded.

"Ripper is a Feral One," the Overseer explained casually, even as he removed several liquids and a long, needle-like object from his pouch. He filled the syringe carefully with one of the liquids and studied the golden, thin substance as he spoke. "A successful, complete subject, perfectly conditioned and prepared. Unfortunately, we don't have enough perfect subjects to really lay claim to a successful formula and procedure, and more tests need to be made." He smiled at her, but it was as oily and disgusting as his smell. "You'll be helping us with that."

"I will _not _help you with _anyth—_aaagh..." The cat's voice trailed off in a pained hiss as the tiger claws dug still further into her skin. She was sure she could feel the tips of the natural weapons grinding against bone.

"I am afraid you have little choice in the matter," the Overseer answered dryly. "Now do hold still, and tell me truthfully what you feel...if you can, rather."

The needle jerked suddenly into her skin, and she could feel a biting pain as the liquid was forced into her blood. Shock overwhelmed her senses. Had he put something _into _her? Had he poisoned her? She would have no chance to escape if he did. Fear flickered on the edge of her mind.

But fear transformed into anger as she regained control of her emotions. She would _not _let this filthy, stinking _human _force poisons into her blood. She would _kill _him before he got the chance!

Her rage was building now, hissing through her every sense like a deadly gas, and through her haze she barely recognized that the pressure of the tiger was gone. Indeed, all the scents of the living beings had left her cell, were outside it now, but she was too angry to care. She was furious, and in pain, and she hated it all. She would kill them all, she reasoned, every last one, avenge herself for her treatment, avenge her partner for his watery death.

And then reason was gone, and all she knew was her senses, her body, her very _veins _were on fire, burning with anger and pain such as she had never witnessed before. The _world _was in flames, blood and pain were all that mattered, and she was enraged, and she was going to kill every last thing, kill and kill and kill until there was nothing left to kill...

And then all traces of thought were gone as well; dragged into flames, set alight, and ripped into thousands of irreparable pieces.

* * *

And there we have chapter two. More where this came from—this isn't even close to over. So stick around and you'll get answers soon.

If you leave a review, kindly make sure there's some meat to it. I want to know what you liked, what you didn't, what you thought was done well, what could be better. Input REALLY helps, and I would REALLY appreciate it. Thanks!

--Velkyn Karma


	3. Onesided Insanity

**Feral**

Part three of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Warning:**Again, some torture and nastiness in this chapter. Don't like, don't read, enough said.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

* * *

"Good instincts usually tell you what to do long before your head has figured it out."

--Michael Burke

* * *

Darkness. Pain. Clinging. Air.

Air! Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe, damn it..._

But there was none, and he couldn't; he knew it instinctively. There was pain everywhere; lancing down his side, ripping up his back, smashing into his arms and legs with a fury so painfully burning it was cold...

_Cold..._

It was pressing in on him everywhere, so thick, so sharp, he couldn't take the pressure of it all much longer, so much, too much...

Give up...?

No. _No. _No, he wouldn't do that, couldn't do that, it wasn't in his nature, wasn't in his blood.

Did he even _have _any blood anymore...?

_Not enough, _the pain told him weakly, _losing too much, not enough, never enough, won't make it, can't make it..._

_No!_

Light.

It hurt, and badly; it took him a moment to realize he'd forced his eyes open, not that it mattered. Everything was hazy. Disjointed. Couldn't see still, can't see, can't breathe, can't can't can't...

_Move. _

Sluggishly he gave the command, sluggishly he took up the order, but he was a good soldier, obeyed orders well. Wouldn't give up, couldn't give up, can't can't can't...

The pressure was everywhere around him, that sharp cold slickness that stole his energy, sapped is strength, his blood, his life, but he wouldn't let it win. Clawed at the pressure around him, dragged at it, pulled himself up and up and towards the dim light.

_Can't breathe air need it pain too much cold too sharp chest burning oh Ashera, air, please, _please!

He clawed faster, more viciously, like the cat—_yes, yes the cat, she wouldn't give up, not like this, fight, fight!--_and was rewarded for his sudden burst of energy. His head broke the surface and even as water burst in all directions he breathed in, great, beautiful gulps of sweet, sweet, goddess-blessed _air!_

He gasped, and panted, and clawed at the water desperately, and was aware that he was kicking too, despite the jerking spasmodic pain in his legs and his sides and his arms and his head and dammit everywhere hurt, but he could _breathe, _so he could _live, _and he would.

Movement. He was moving. He realized it suddenly when hazy points of light flashed past above him—stars, were they stars, was it really night? Was that the moon? So bright, so wide, white, beautiful, alive, he was_ alive—_and connected the movement to the rushing cold around him. River. In the river. Moving downriver. Got it. He had it.

_No! _His consciousness, his reason, kicked in with a sudden ferocity. The river was dangerous in his condition. He had to get out, now, or he never would.

_Just a little more strength, _he urged himself silently. _Just a little more...a little more and you can rest..._

The water tugged playfully at him now, but the malice underneath that playful edge was painfully obvious. _No._ He wouldn't die here. Dragging free strength from reserves he was unaware he even had, he forced his tired, pain-filled arms to churn, to paddle, and dragged himself towards the riverbank.

He almost didn't make it. The current was too swift, too powerful, and he was too slow, too exhausted. But he would not give up, _could _not give up, and forced himself onward, until at last his feeble, weak beorc hands clawed at the mud and rocks and sand on the river's edge.

He was afraid he would be swept away, but the goddess was on his side that day; he dug his fingers more firmly into the mud and dragged his wet, injured, useless body free from the cruel clutches of the water. Kept going until every last inch of him was free, kept going until he dragged himself onto the dry grass alongside the river, until the water's reaching maw posed no threat to him any longer.

Tired. He was so, so tired, but he had to get up, keep going...had to get help...warn them...help...

Too much strain crashed down on his body in a frenzy, and he cried out in pain. The sweet darkness of unconsciousness was just as quick to answer, and Zihark was ruthlessly, but mercifully, dragged into the depths of his own mind once more.

* * *

At noontime following their latest raid, Ike found himself pacing the halls of the Begnion palace, a frown etched deep in his face.

He had no cause to worry, really; he was sure he was simply over exaggerating the situation. Things were going fantastically for himself and his band of mercenaries. The negotiations with the Apostle that morning had worked themselves out very nicely, and Ike had even managed to snatch a bonus from the Begnion coffers for a job well done and quickly completed. The extra money would certainly do well to bolster the spirits of his troops and allow for a greater variety of weaponry and goods to purchase.

Lethe and Zihark had not returned, of course, but there was no cause to worry about that either. Lethe certainly would have been back by now, but despite Zihark's swiftness Ike was sure the man would not have made it there and back on the scouting mission so quickly. They would be returning in a few hours, report the location, and his team would set off in the dark hours of the morning to finish the rout and acquire the next set of cargo. Nothing to worry about, everything according to plan.

Except that a nagging feeling was hovering over Ike's head, and the longer he tried to ignore it the stronger it became. And while Ike was more than willing to listen to the cold reason and logic that Soren so favored, he trusted his gut instinct more; and his gut was telling him that something had gone very wrong.

Still frowning, he wandered up and down the palace halls for a few more moments before turning, suddenly and decisively, for the palace garden.

He found Mordecai exactly where he expected the laguz to be, lounging quietly around the shady trees with a relaxed eye on the small squirrels playing at its base. At his hurried approach the tiger lifted his head, twitching his short ears in surprise. "Does something trouble Ike?"

"Sort of," the commander responded slowly, coming to a halt in front of the laguz. "It's more of a...gut feeling. An intuition."

"It is good to trust instinct," the other agreed, coming to his feet. At full height Mordecai towered over his present leader, even in his half-beorc form. "What is wrong?"

Ike ran a hand through his messy blue hair, looking a little frustrated. "I think something's happened on the scouting mission I sent Lethe and Zihark on. I've been wondering if I sent them into something too dangerous, unprepared."

"Lethe is strong," the tiger said simply, swishing his long tail quietly. "Lethe will not be hurt. Zihark is strong too."

"I know," Ike agreed with a nod, "so when I think about it, there's really nothing to worry about. But I don't know...something seems wrong. The bandits we went after yesterday are the same type as the ones I sent Lethe and Zihark to scout out. But the cargo we took yesterday...it was _alive._"

Mordecai frowned slightly and spoke. "Yes. I know."

"Mordecai...I think those boxes might have held laguz."

A low rumble reverberated in the air about him, and it took a second for Ike to realize that the tiger was growling. He responded slowly. "Yes. I think you are right."

Ike turned away, glancing absently over the spacious gardens with a careless eye as he thought out loud. "If those bandits have the ability to capture laguz..."

Mordecai's tail swished again. "Ike's instinct is strong," he said, his voice a low rumble. "If you believe something is wrong, then something is wrong."

The commander nodded grimly in agreement. "Then I need your help. It's too late to get to the bandit hideout and meet up with them. But if we head out now, we should be able to meet up with Lethe and Zihark halfway. They should be coming back, after all. You'll be able to find them faster than I could."

Mordecai nodded in agreement. "I will help you. I am worried now, too."

"Good." Ike looked up at the tiger, firm determination mixed in his sharp blue eyes with edges of worry. "Meet me by the palace gate in ten minutes. I want to find Soren and Titania first—if I'm overreacting it will be pointless, but if those bandits _are _dangerous enough to catch laguz, then we'll need backup."

The laguz nodded once more. "I will meet you. Come quickly." And, turning, the tiger headed for the gate with a decisive flick of his long, thick tail.

Ike turned to run in the opposite direction, back towards his quarters. With luck Soren and Titania would be discussing their latest plans, and he would be able to find them without difficulty. And with luck, he prayed, the dark churning in his gut would become little more than a harmless nightmare.

Unfortunately, Ike knew, his intuition tended to be almost painfully accurate.

* * *

When Lethe woke hours later, she was immediately struck with such a piercing sensation in her head that, for a brief moment, she was sure her skull had been split in two with one of the human scimitar-swords. The sensation dulled after several moments, but she groaned softly all the same, and cursed the throbbing sensation in the back of her mind that her previous pain receded to.

In a vague corner of her memory, she recalled the reactions of some humans in Ike's mercenary company after they had ingested beorc alcohol, and suddenly came to the unfortunate realization of knowing what a "hangover" felt like. If she ever got back to the camp, she would feel deeply sympathetic with the humans who consumed the smelly liquid in the future. Or a little more sympathetic, at least.

With another soft groan, she reached out clumsily with her mind to try and seize control of her other senses. Her sense of smell smashed back into her awareness almost instantly, and she wished once more that she could trade her sensitive nose for the dull one of her beorc companions. The stench of chemicals, herbs, and poisons was overwhelming, mixed poorly with the odors of blood, decay, excrement, and something _very_ wrong that she could not quite place in her mind.

That cat wrinkled her nose in disgust and shifted, slowly becoming aware of her physical location. She was cold again, but while her ankles, wrists and neck were bound with the same sharp chains, she was no longer laying on a stone floor. The surface below her felt like metal and smelled like steel. That was odd...

Cracking her eyes open, she hissed in surprise as her sensitive pupils met with _far_ too much light for her liking. After a few moments of painful adjustments she realized that the room was, in fact, quite gloomy, with only a collection of torches lining the walls to provide light. That was good, at least, but _damn, _even that torchlight was painful on her sensitive cat senses.

She blinked in surprise as her eyes finally began to adjust to the firelight and cast shadows, and then narrowed them for a better study of her surroundings. She was laying on her side, once again in her half-beorc form. Her head was resting near several thick metal bars, also smelling strongly of steel. Beyond the bars she could see a line of dim shapes along one wall, not to far from her own position—perhaps ten feet, fifteen at most.

Frowning slightly, Lethe shifted for a better look, sitting up slowly and grasping the bars of her prison to help her balance. If she was right, then those shapes were small iron cages, approximately five feet by five feet. But in the gloom she could not _quite _make out the huddled shapes in those fifteen cages, and with a frown she pressed her face against the bars of her own enclosure for a better look.

Her eyes decoded the haze of shadows and flickering light suddenly, and she recoiled in surprise and disgust. The figures inside those cages looked human, but they were twisted in such horrific positions, with such agonized looks on their faces, that she could not help but feel a pang of sickness wrench her stomach. Blood and waste littered the steel floors until not a gleaming metal surface was left visible, and the figures, minimally clothed, looked to be covered in slash and scratch marks. One man's stomach appeared to be ripped open, courtesy of his own bloodied hands; another woman appeared to have torn her own face to shreds, her eye sockets empty and trickling with red wetness; and still another man appeared to be covered entirely in his own bite marks.

Lethe curled her lip in revulsion and horror. Not only were the sights horrific, but the smells wafting from the cages were enough to make her want to retch. The death and decay, mixed with a _wrong _but strangely _familiar _smell that she could not quite place from Ike's mercenaries, was much like being smacked physically in the face.

What on earth had caused this?

"Branded," came an all-too-familiar voice from behind her. With a hissing yelp of surprise Lethe spun as much as her manacles would allow, cursing her movements immediately when her throbbing headache flared up in protest.

The Overseer stood casually by her own cage—much larger than the ones she had just observed, Lethe noted passingly—and gave his oily smirk when her eyes alighted upon him. Noting the confusion ill-concealed in her face, he nodded to the atrocities behind her.

"That's what they are," he added conversationally. "Branded. Since you were wondering."

"Wh...what?" Lethe rasped unintelligently, her mind reeling from the double blow of both shock and pain.

"You know," the mage said, sounding bored. "The result of an unholy alliance between a sub-human and a human. Monstrosities. Half-breeds. Branded."

Lethe hissed angrily. "I know what the Branded are," she snapped, not in the mood to be lectured by her capturer. "Why are they _here?_" She narrowed her eyes, even as another whiff of the decay and torment behind her passed unwillingly through her nostrils.

The Overseer shrugged. "I was experimenting. I wondered if it were possible to create Feral _Branded, _using the same process as I use on full sub-humans. Branded are disgusting creatures, but I imagine the human intellect mixed with the overpowering ferocity of the Feral Ones would make exceptionally powerful warriors. Just think! An entire army of unholy super-human _monsters, _completely loyal and _far_ more easily disguised than you beasts. The chaos they could cause would be monumental!"

Lethe hissed angrily. Branded _were _atrocities, but she would not wish this torture on even those wretched things. She glanced back at the cages of tortured, gutted beings and realized with a start that one of them was still moving weakly.

The Overseer followed her gaze and sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately, my experiments on the things found little success. The chemicals I use to create Feral Ones can be withstood by most sub-humans, but are poisonous to human blood. Most of them die within a matter of hours." He strode over to the still-moving Branded slowly, casually, and nudged it with a boot toe. Lethe realized it was a young male. The thing snarled feebly in its weak half-human voice and writhed, clawing at its own skin with slightly protruded bony fingernails.

" I will admit, however, that it is _fiendishly _entertaining to watch them tear themselves apart," the loathsome man added, his voice still maintaining its casual tone. "The human within them is weakened by the chemicals, while their sub-human blood bubbles to the surface with rabid ferocity. They go to war with themselves in their own minds." He chuckled slightly, and then kicked the still-writhing young Branded. The body gave a low shriek of pain and shuddered, falling still for good. "A pity, though, about the lack of success. Such a good idea, wasted."

Lethe shivered.

"But enough about those half-breed mistakes," the Overseer continued with yet another oily smile. "I can promise you that you certainly will not have the same issues as those bloody things. Full-blood sub-humans are notoriously strong willed when it comes to my collection of chemicals. And if your earlier tests were any indication, you are perhaps one of the _best _of the cat race to fare so well. I imagine that if we work this right, you'll turn out to be a perfect specimen!"

"I will _not_ help you," Lethe snarled in response, her tail fluffing in anger as she bared her teeth. "I will _die _before I become a mindless beast like that!"

"No, you won't," the Overseer answered simply. "Because you are still alive right now, aren't you, my dear?"

"Never call me that!" Lethe hissed, before her eyes widened in surprise. "Wh...what?"

"Tell me something, if you can," the man asked lazily, and the cat realized that he had drawn parchment and a quill from within his long robes. "When did you first lose awareness and regress completely?"

The laguz hissed at him warningly, but her mind was already darting back to hours before, after this foul man had injected her with...whatever he had put into her. She remembered being afraid, but then growing angry. Unnaturally angry, wanting to kill anything, everything, to rip it to shreds, tear it apart, to fight and rip and tear and kill and kill and_ kill..._

Had she really...? But no, she _couldn't _have...regression was a bogey story told to little kittens at night when they misbehaved, a folklore story when the goddess ripped intelligence from the beast laguz for their arrogance and disobedience. It couldn't really happen, she'd never believed...it wasn't _possible..._

The Overseer smirked darkly and scribbled a note down on his piece of parchment. "I see. Not interested in talking, then. But I can tell from your face that you've recognized what happened to you. And while I can't say for certain, I'm a pretty good judge at this sort of thing through observation...I'd say you lasted a total of two minutes before you regressed completely to primitive thought and instinct. Two minutes before you became a complete, dumb, crazed animal." He looked at her with an arrogant smirk plastered on his face, and she wanted nothing more than to reach out and rip it to shreds.

Worse still...he was _right. _The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she really _had _regressed, if only temporarily. She had hardly lasted any time at all against that chemical before being dragged back into the most primal instincts that her kind had so carefully worked to pull free from.

Panic set in suddenly. What would happen if she did it again? Would she fall to that dark embrace faster? Would she ever come back to her right mind? What had that poison _done _to her?

The Overseer was laughing again; the entire situation seemed to amuse him far too greatly. "Your emotions are so intriguing," he commented, even as he scribbled more observational notes onto his parchment. "You were so feisty only a few hours ago. Half a day later and you've suddenly grown afraid of your own future. Perhaps even of yourself."

Anger flared in Lethe's mind, and while a part of her feared it—_anger is the start of regression, can't afford to let it gain control, I can't—_another part of her embraced its comforting strength, let it flow through her once more. Baring her teeth again, she snarled angrily, "You are a sick, twisted human. No...you are worse than even a human. You are _filth! _Disgusting, vile, wretched--"

He laughed at her again. "Don't get too angry," he cautioned, still with that horrific smile twitching at his pale, withered lips. "Who knows if you'll drive yourself crazy again. You wouldn't want that, now would you?"

Lethe fell silent, breathing hard, and directed a fierce glare at the Overseer instead.

"Would you like to see what you become, when you regress into that state?" he asked, carefully laying down his parchment and ink on a spare table. "Let me show you." And without another word, he strode over to the wall opposite the twisted Branded, to a series of larger cages encased entirely in a second layer of iron. Smirking at her lightly, he placed a key—one of many on a massive ring—into the lock, and with a finite twist swung free the solid steel layer.

Muffled banging from within became suddenly sharp and clear to her sensitive cat ears, and seconds later a horrible screeching noise ripped through the air. Shocked, Lethe's eyes came to light on another cat laguz, much like herself. He was a little bigger and obviously male, but had the same wiry athletic build common to all of the cat clan.

But something was terribly wrong with this cat, Lethe realized within bare seconds. His fur, once probably a bright blue-green, had faded to a sickly pale dirt color and came in matted patches. Much of his fur was scattered around his paws in careless clumps. He remained in his cat form, did not change back even when he spotted Lethe across the room, nor did he speak in any recognizable growl or hiss.

Yet not even his appearance shocked her fully. It was his actions that terrified her. Wild-eyed and crazed, tail lashing and voice screeching in unbearable rage, agony, and loathing, the cat was repeatedly hurling himself at the bars of his cage, desperately trying to break through to the mage just feet beyond his grasp. The poor beast did not show any understanding of self preservation, and within mere seconds his shoulders, chest, paws and head were covered in bruising blows from the unyielding steel, sickly fur falling out in further patches at his feet. Uncaring, the cat continued his self-destructive rampage, yowling and screeching at the man just beyond paw's length.

Lethe shuddered and closed her eyes after only seconds, but could not erase the vision from her memory, nor could she close the sounds from her ears. There was nothing left to that laguz but pure, primal instinct, the need to hunt and destroy and kill. He had been driven insane by this sick, twisted _madman. _

A sharp _clang _reached her ears after another minute, and she opened her eyes slowly, just in time to view the Overseer closing the second metal door with a snap. She could hear muffled screeching and banging from inside still, and wished fervently that she could rip the poor creature's throat free, save him from the prison of his own insane mind.

"He'll quiet down eventually," the man told her absently, striding back over to her own cage and his notes. "He always does, after a few broken bones. I need to keep mending him with magic, but his behavior is simply too intriguing for me to let him go."

Lethe was careful to show nothing but rebellion and determination in her face. But whatever her outward expression, inside she felt like being sick. She could hear scratches and banging from a few of the crates on either side of the one freshly closed now, as though their inhabitants had been roused by their crazed neighbor. Was this what regression was really like? Had she...had she actually _become _something like that, mere hours before?

The Overseer smiled. "Fun, isn't it? Such raw power. Amazingly useful, very productive...if it can be controlled." He shrugged. "Unfortunately, most of my experiments try to kill me still, as you no doubt just witnessed. Only a few perfect beasts have been created. But with more trial and error I expect to hit upon the main formula soon."

He was moving to yet another wall, running perpendicular to the caged victims. Lethe noticed suddenly that rows of shelves, cabinets, and tools were lined up there. The scents of the poisons and chemicals were coming from this direction, and after a moment of horror she realized he was putting together another concoction to use on her.

She hissed angrily, every hair on her body standing on end. She would _not _let him put that horrible poison into her again. Struggling against the manacles, she melded gracefully into her cat form and strove to free herself, find a way to fight back, escape, anything...

"No, no," the Overseer chided her. She started—he was beside her cage once more. Moving to the sides of her prison, he carefully pulled the chains taught, stretching her limbs until she was spread-eagled and hardly able to breathe from the pressure of the metal collar, let alone move a single limb. "It won't do to have you escaping, or injuring yourself. I've had a few try that before." He tsked. "And you call yourselves proud. Sub-humans are lying, worthless things as always."

Lethe snarled at him savagely. "You will not come _near me!_" she shrieked, hissing and spitting and struggling with every muscle she possessed. "Do not touch me!"

"I'll have to disobey," the mage said dryly. "But, I'll tell you what—to make it up to you, I'll tell you what's about to happen." He smiled at her, a greasy expression that made her struggle all the harder, and held up another syringe full of the same golden liquid as before.

"This is a stimulant," he explained patiently, again falling into his lecturing tone. "One of many potions I use in my procedures. It eradicates any form of thought or reason and encourages basic instinct alone." He held up a second syringe, this one filled with a clear liquid. "And this," he added, with a dark smile, "is an unusual little concoction that, ah, _encourages _primal rage. Blood-lust. We won't be using this little thing all the time, but I need a few more tests with it first. Both are temporary, but if used long enough, you'll find the effects start to become...permanent. Like your friends over there. Well...shall we begin?"

Lethe struggled harder, but her mind was beginning to overwhelm itself with a sense of deep despair, fear, and dread. As the first needle plunged home into her skin, and the first traces of unthinking rage crept into her senses, she had time for one last reason-based thought. _By the goddess, someone, please find me. I don't care if it's a laguz or beorc or hells, even that damned mage-shadow of the commander's, but someone please, please...get me out of here!"_

And then came the tide of regression once more, and all thoughts fell suddenly silent.

* * *

And there's chapter 3. Getting pretty crazy, and we're not close to done yet. Lots more to go.

Gasp! A mention of Branded completely unrelated to Soren being emo! What will become of the world now?

If you review, do kindly tell me what you're liking and what you're not. What do you think was done well? What do you think could be done better? These are things that really help me out as a writer.

--Velkyn Karma


	4. Delirium Trigger

**Feral**

Part four of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Warning:**Again, some unpleasant scenes. Don't like, don't read. Can't really understand why you're still here.

**Note:** Due to unusual circumstances on my Friday schedule, we have a_ Thursday _update. Joy.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

* * *

"I'll make a beast out of myself...  
Gets rid of all the pain of being a man..."  
--"Bat Country," Avenged Sevenfold

* * *

Mid-afternoon found Ike, Soren, Titania and Mordecai hours away from the city and palace, trudging alongside the river with sharp eyes and no results. They had been walking for some time now, but had seen no sign of any mishap, and Ike was beginning to question his own instincts. Perhaps he was overreacting, just as Soren had said.

Sighing, the commander glanced in the direction of his two closest advisers and friends. Titania had immediately agreed to go with him, uncomplaining and supportive, and now rode straight-backed on her solid white horse. Their lack of results did not seem to faze her, and she remained wary and watchful as she rode beside the small party, favorite ax close at hand.

Soren did not complain either. He never did, once Ike had made a final decision, and strove only to support his commander's choice with every ounce of cunning and skill he possessed. But Ike recalled all too clearly the mage's warning: that this wild, unplanned search based on intuition alone was a foolish and potentially dangerous choice. He kept that warning carefully in the back of his mind. Soren did not criticize without good reason.

Ahead of them, Mordecai weaved back and forth slightly as he searched for the scents of their companions, or of any indication that something was amiss. The tiger's growing unease was beginning to support Ike's gut instinct, the only reason that the young commander had not turned them around and marched them back to the palace when he first began to second-guess himself. If the laguz thought something was wrong as well, then it was a good idea to investigate the situation.

Still, the lack of information was growing discouraging. And as the sun began to fall lower in the sky, Ike began to wonder at the intelligence of his choice. They had not met Lethe or Zihark halfway as he had planned, but perhaps he was simply overreacting at what that could mean.

As if reading his thoughts, Soren spoke up, shifting the small satchel that held his spellbooks from one side to the other. "I am beginning to wonder if continuing this search would be a wise choice. The sun will be setting in an hour or two, and it would be best if we were not locked outside the city at night."

Ever his opposite, Titania shifted in her saddle and countered his argument. "But our companions are still out here. It has been over a day and a half since they left us—they should be returning by now. At the very least we should have met them on the way, as Ike planned for."

Soren turned to eye her critically. "We do not know for sure that they would take this path," he answered simply. "They may very well have located a shortcut leading between the bandit base they were sent to scout and the city, and have taken that route instead."

"Perhaps, but we cannot know that for sure, and to abandon our companions when they could be hurt and in need of our help is shameful," Titania said, voice sharp.

"I do not think--" Soren began, but before he could finish his counter-argument, Mordecai growled slowly.

"What is it?" Ike asked, turning away from the mage and paladin quickly.

"I smell...something odd." The laguz sniffed, and then abruptly shifted into his tiger form, crashing onto all four paws with a jarring _thud. _Senses enhanced, he sniffed at the air again, and then snarled gutturally through ten-inch fangs, "It is blood."

When he managed to decipher the common tongue through the rumbling growls of Mordecai's beast form, Ike's brows raised in surprise. "Where? Can you tell?"

"Ahead. There is much blood...hurry!" And without further warning the laguz dug in his claws and propelled himself forward, slowing his speed just enough that the humans could follow. Titania immediately spurred her horse into a run to keep up, while Ike and Soren followed as best as able on much shorter human legs.

Ten minutes and one rather winded Soren later, Mordecai came to an abrupt halt alongside the river, sniffing at the air once more. "Here," he growled to his companions after a moment, pointing with one massive paw before slipping back into his half-beorc form. "Hurry!"

Titania drew her horse up alongside the laguz and glanced down into the grass. Her expression remained unrecognizing for mere seconds before her eyes widened, and she threw herself from the saddle quickly. "Oh, no!"

Ike and Soren caught up moments later, just in time to see the female warrior rolling a silver-haired figure over onto his back--Zihark. The mercenary leader grimaced slightly as he caught sight of the many smears of blood covering the swordsman's lithe frame, staining his clothes a dirty brown-red.

"Is he alive?" Ike asked after a few moments, a deep frown growing on his face as he crouched down next to Titania.

The paladin had already removed her gauntlets and pressed her fingers carefully to Zihark's slim neck. She paused, feeling for a pulse, and let free a breath she had not realized she was holding when she felt the weak beat against her fingertips. "Yes. Barely, but yes."

"It seems," Soren said quietly, his voice cold and observational, "that your instincts were correct after all, Ike."

Titania had started to bind Zihark's injuries to the best of her ability with some spare bandages and medication from her saddlebags. "This will hold him for now," she said softly, as Ike bent to help her, "but it isn't enough. If we move him quickly, we might be able to get him back to Rhys in time..."

Ike frowned and nodded. "He'll need to prepare for this, though—it's a big job. We need to send him a message so he can get ready."

"I will go," Mordecai spoke up. "I can move much faster." He melded once more into his tiger form and without another word leaped off through the trees, racing back to the palace at breakneck speed.

"Ike, help me get him onto my horse," Titania said, even as she packed away the bandages and swung up onto her mount. "It will be easier to move him this way." Complying, he and Soren worked together to hand the unconscious swordsman up to her, where she secured him firmly in the saddle before her.

"You go ahead," the mercenary leader ordered, once he had seen his injured soldier safely up onto the horse. "I want to see if I can figure out what happened here. Maybe we'll be able to find Lethe, too."

The paladin nodded, but gave him a worried look. "Be careful. Whatever attacked here, it was dangerous. Don't put yourself into a situation you cannot get out of."

"I'll be fine," Ike reassured her. "And I've got Soren here with me, too. He'll watch my back." He nodded his head towards the river, where the mage in question was staring into the rushing waters thoughtfully.

"Then _both _of you be careful," she said warningly, before swinging her mount around in the direction of the city, taking off in a slow trot so as to not agitate Zihark's injuries further.

Ike watched her leave before pacing back to Soren's side, gaze sweeping around the scene. "What do you make of it?" he asked slowly, the frown slipping back onto his face.

Soren's observant red eyes flickered over the water once more before tracing a slow path up the bank, to where Zihark's body had lain moments before. After several long moments, he said slowly, "I think the river runs straight through the heart of that second location."

Ike's brows furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

The mage responded by indicating the ground all around them with a sweep of his hand. "There is no trace of battle. No ripped grass, clotted dirt, slashes from weapons, broken arrows. The only blood here belongs to Zihark, but there are no weapons here that could have possibly injured him." He looked over at the river thoughtfully again. "But there _is _a trail from the water."

The young commander raised an eyebrow and bent down, examining the muddy dirt and grass at their feet. Sure enough, drag marks could be seen clearly in the wet earth, leading away from the riverbank to Zihark's previous location. "You're right. You think he was washed downriver?"

"It is very likely. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say the two reached their scouting location--perhaps even began their mission--but were attacked upstream. Zihark was injured there." He indicated upriver with a vague wave. "But he fell in the water somehow, and drifted to here, where he climbed out and fell unconscious."

"Then Lethe must still be up there."

Soren frowned. "It is possible, I suppose. But only one of _many _possibilities. If they were attacked, she could be dead. Or perhaps she fell into the river and drowned, or was swept further downstream."

Ike stood, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword firmly. "Then we need to go find her, and see if she's alright." He took a step forward.

Soren shook his head firmly and reached out, grabbing Ike's arm with a restraining hand. "No."

His grip was certainly nothing compared to Ike's strength, and the mercenary leader knew he could break it effortlessly if he wanted to. But the movement stopped him cold all the same, and he glanced at his friend in confusion. "What are you doing? If there's any possibility that Lethe is alive, then we need to go help her!"

Soren shook his head again. "I understand your concern," the mage responded smoothly, "but that would be far too dangerous. If bandits found, attacked, and badly injured two scouts—who, may I remind you, are not supposed to be discovered—then they will certainly be ready for a rescue party. They will be waiting for you. Walking in alone is as good as handing your life over to them now."

"I won't be alone," Ike snapped back, a touch annoyed. Soren's fingers were still digging into his arm, a surprisingly painful sensation for a supposedly physically weak mage. "You would go with me. Wouldn't you?" His expression was questioning.

"I would follow any decision you made, and aid you in any battle you chose," the tactician agreed. "But I will _not _help you kill yourself. What we need now is a plan, and a location." He gave his commander and friend a firm look. "Zihark may have found the bandits' hideout before he was injured. I suggest we return to the palace for now and wait for his return to consciousness. With luck, he will be able to give us even an approximate location, and I can plan a full-scale attack and rescue mission."

Ike shook his head in frustration. "I don't like it," he admitted slowly. "I don't like the thought of leaving anyone behind like this. My father never would, if he knew his men were in danger."

"Your father was also perfectly aware that he was useful to nobody dead," Soren answered flatly. Ike winced, and the mage was aware that his statement sounded a bit tactless, but he didn't care. Reason, not tact, was important right now. "If you pull back now," he continued, "you will live to fight another day, and ensure a successful rescue—instead of the deaths of both of you."

The young commander sighed. "You're right, of course," he agreed. "As always. I just hate the thought of leaving somebody behind when they need me. I'm still new to this commanding job...I don't want to let my men down." He gave Soren a light smile. "I'd do the same for you, I hope you know. And nobody would be telling me to take a break and wait."

The mage's lips twitched slightly in the ghost of a smile. "The sentiment is appreciated," he answered dryly, though the faintest of glimmers in his red eyes indicated affected more deeply by that statement than he let on. He finally released Ike's arm. "And now, I believe we would head back and see how Zihark is doing. The faster he recovers, the quicker your rescue mission can be put into effect."

"Agreed," Ike said with a nod, and the two turned back towards the palace without another word.

* * *

It had felt like weeks, but deep within Lethe knew she could not have been in this stinking hellhole for more than two days.

Not that it mattered, really. Deep in the windowless experimentation labs that the Overseer prided himself in, her time spent was not measured in daylight but in recognizable hours of consciousness. Time that, she admitted grimly—fearfully--was growing shorter and shorter by the minute.

The Overseer's experimentations were ruthless. Hardly had she awoken from her feral mind and exhausted stupor than the loathsome mage would inject more chemicals into her for the next round of study. There seemed to be no end to the foul-smelling poisons. Liquids of every color and consistency were forced into her blood or down her throat, until not even her sharp nose could keep track of them all.

She had fought at first, struggling with every ounce of power and skill she possessed to free herself from the chains and the human's filthy hands, to jerk away from the disgusting smelling chemicals and injections. But the Overseer was not patient with his subjects, only their results, and after her third display of defiance he had taken to punishing her rebellion. The bruises and scorch-marks from her last attempt at resistance still throbbed painfully if she shifted her body too much.

With a soft groan she flattened her injured body further against the cool, comforting metal floor of her cage and licked her wounds through her fur. That was another thing; Lethe had taken to remaining in her cat form more often, dredging up strength from a source unknown to even her to sustain the transformation. The Overseer found this exciting and scribbled notes about her transformation status almost constantly, but the laguz was past caring. In her half-beorc form she felt exposed, helpless. As a cat she felt much safer, protected by the illusion that she could defend herself if the opportunity arose. She would not give up even her tiny reassurance as long as she could keep her claws on it.

Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she hissed irritably in response. She was starving. The Overseer refused to give her food...from any edible source, at any rate. During several of his experimentations he had thrust terrified, weak beorc into her cage, taunting her to hunt and consume, after filling her blood with his latest batch of poisons.

Lethe had resisted, but in truth the thought of hunting the pathetic humans had been enticing. The hairless, soft things would have been so _easy _to kill, smearing their warm blood across her cage bars so_ simple..._so..._rewarding...entrancing_...

With a yowl of anger the laguz ripped her mind free from the latest memories, her response so powerful that she skittered backwards on pained, unsteady paws. Those thoughts...they were dangerous. Very, very dangerous. She couldn't afford to lose her reason, and she would not. _Fight! Fight, damn it! _

And yet despite her best efforts, Lethe could feel _it _growing. _It..._the essence of feral nature deep within her very being, tugging at her mind, consuming her soul, desperately reaching for control of her claws and fangs and senses and all for the hunt, for blood, for death, for killing, kill, kill, _kill..._

_Stop it!_ The cat shrieked in her own mind, and the hungry, waiting voice receded to the shadows. But it was still there, still waiting, crouching with claws out, just waiting for its prey to make one wrong move so it could sink its fangs into her neck and tear her to shreds and--

"Stop!" Lethe snarled, this time out loud, and bared her fangs in defiance. But beneath her anger she could feel herself trembling in abject terror. She did not want to let that thing control her. But she could hear it, _feel _it, creeping closer with every injection, with every breath of exhaustion her body set free. Already the struggle to resist was draining her of every drop of energy.

How long could she last? What would happen to her when she finally ran out? Would she ever be able to come back? Fight _it _away from her mind, take back her own territory?

No. It would be too strong. She would never come back. She knew it instinctively, in the depths of her heart.

The knowledge rewarded her with a burst of energy, and she latched onto it eagerly, greedily, fighting _it _further into the darkness. She would not let it come. She would not surrender her reason. She would _live,_and _exist, _and _never _surrender.

_It _paced restlessly within her, watched, and waited. No intelligence, no patience, no thought. She had all these things. She had the advantage. She had power. She would win. She _would. _

"I think it is about time for our latest test," the Overseer said, breaking forcefully into her mental battle with his greasy voice. Lethe blinked, and the world came back into focus, revealing the mage to be in front of her cage once more. He smirked at her. She knew better than to hiss back.

"You show remarkable tenacity," the Overseer added calmly, as he began the now-far-too-familiar process of tightening the laguz' chains so he could administer his latest drug. "Very few sub-humans last as long as you have resisting the initial processes. I congratulate you." His lips twitched in another loathsome smile. "But I will still break you, never fear."

Lethe growled lowly in her throat, but did not respond. It took only seconds for the mage to summon embers from the air, and the cat hated fire magic with a passion; she would give him no reason to use the cursed spell.

Unfortunately, her stomach did not share Lethe's resolve, and she nearly swore when it rumbled loudly in hunger once again. The Overseer looked dangerously smug. "My, my," he said slowly. "Are you still hungry, my dear? You really should take better care of yourself. I'll get you something to eat in a minute."

The laguz bit back a low hiss and waited impatiently while the needle plunged into her skin and expelled the latest poison into her veins. After several moments the Overseer pulled back from the cage and released the holds on her chains, an oily smile still plastered on his face. He nearly sauntered out of the lab, and Lethe took the opportunity to stumble unsteadily to her pawed feet, flinching as her bruises and burns protested.

Her stomach groaned for a third time, but the cat had no illusions as to what her meal would be. And, as she had the last two times, she would resist. The Overseer could _not _force her to partake of human flesh, and neither could _it. _Her tail lashed angrily in determination, and Lethe set about to the task of steeling her mind against the now bolstered strength of _it._ The feral monstrosity hiding within her was growing more energetic with the help of the poisons flowing through her bloodstream, and would begin its attack soon enough. She had to be ready.

The Overseer was absent for almost twenty minutes, but returned carrying a small iron sword, with two large bandits trailing behind him. The bandits looked faintly disturbed and suspicious as they entered the lab, but did not shy from their task: dragging a feeble, weak-looking middle-aged human between them. The man was shaking badly, so much that he could hardly stand, and glanced in the direction of Lethe's cage fearfully.

Lethe ignored him._It _was pacing ever closer, clawing at the edges of her defenses, and already the pressure was strengthening painfully. If she just _let go _she would be free, without all this mental pain, the stress, the panic, the fear, and she would be powerful, majestic, _feared, _if only _it _joined with her...

_No! NO! _She would _not _have it, she would not let that happen, never,_never!_ She hissed angrily, scraped her claws against the steel floor of her cage in protest.

"Relax," the Overseer said to her, returning to her cage-side. "There is nothing to fight. Don't panic so much." The words were said comfortingly, but mockingly, and his greasy smirk was wider than ever. Lethe snarled at him.

"Very rude," the Overseer snapped at her. "I've been nice enough to bring you dinner, and this is how you repay my kindness?" Lethe refused to respond, and he shrugged. "Very well then. We'll get straight to business. _Bring him over here!_"

The bandits dragged their captive forward warily, and the weak human shrieked in surprise. "What? No! I'm not dinner, I wouldn't—oh please—don't put me in there with that _thing!_"

Lethe's fur rose on end, and she growled warningly at being treated like an object. She would have spoken directly to the miserable creature, informing him of his own disgusting status as a weak, rude _human, _but language eluded her. It was too hard to form coherent words and sentences when battling with _it _in her head.

"Relax," the Overseer responded calmly. "I'm not putting you in there completely defenseless." His withered lips twitched slightly, even as he unlocked the barred door to the cat's cage. The bandits, fearful of the laguz as well, shoved the captive in quickly and retreated, watching and waiting in sick fascination.

The man turned to break free from the cage, but the door slammed shut in his face with a resounding _clang. _The Overseer smiled from the other side of the bars. "No, no."

The human sharing Lethe's prison began to cry. In a vague part of her mind, not embroiled in a mental war, she curled an imaginary lip in disgust at the man's cowardice. "No, please, let me out, I swear I'll do anything, I'll help you with anything, just don't--"

The loathsome mage cut him off, thrusting the iron sword through the bars into the man's hands. "If you want to leave, I expect to see that sub-human dead," he said simply, before turning back to his note-table, robes swishing.

The human looked horror-struck and stared at the weapon in his hands, glanced up in Lethe's direction. She could see the abject fear in his eyes. He was no match for her—couldn't even hold the sword right, she noted distastefully. She had never used beorc weapons, but had studied Ike's training enough to know the basics of swordplay.

But she wouldn't attack, Lethe resolved firmly. _It _was all but screaming inside her now, a wailing, desperate, hungry keen, wanting so badly to hunt the prey set before it, to attack, rip it to pieces, spread its blood, kill it...but she would not let _It _win. Never. _Never!_

The man looked terrified, but his one chance at freedom lay before him, and he now knew his goal. With a fear-filled battle cry he jumped forward, swinging is sword in a wide and inaccurate arc towards Lethe's head.

The cat dodged easily, leaping to another corner of the cage, and hissed warningly. Her blood was burning once more from the heat of battle and the vicious chemical, and _It _was throwing itself ravenously at her desperately erected defenses. _No more. Stop. No more. I won't do this. I won't let _It _win. I won't let that damned human win. I am Lethe. I am a warrior of Gallia. I will not give up!_

The captive swung around clumsily from the momentum of his blow and whipped his head around, fearful. Lethe could have killed him several times by now, but resisted, instead continuing to hiss warningly.

The man did not heed her warnings. With another yell he swung out at her again, this time aiming for the larger target of her body. That would never do. With another neat dodge, Lethe leaped forward as much as her binding chains would allow and swung out a nimble paw, catching the human in the side of his head. With luck she could drive him into the bars and knock him unconscious. The sooner the battle was over, the faster she could return her diverted attention to the already overwhelming task of pushing _I__t _further back into her mind.

The skinny thing did indeed stumble sideways, cracking his head against the bars and slumping momentarily. But to Lethe's amazement he dragged himself weakly back to his feet, grasping the sword in his sweating hands as he turned to face her once more. He was swaying, disoriented, even as he charged for a third time.

Lethe's ears became acutely aware of the sound of laughing, and seconds later she recognized the voice. The Overseer was finding the fight amusing now...but what had set him off on his laughing tangent...?

And then she smelled it.

The captive's head had been damaged, skin splitting to admit a light trickle of red life fluid that dripped past his eyes and onto the floor; and the scent of blood was wafted to Lethe's nose, the familiar smell so delightful, entrancing, rewarding...

_Hungry..._

_It _smashed at her senses, filling her mind with a deafening roar, and it was all Lethe could do to avoid the wobbly sword blow. Her defenses were cracking, splintering, breaking...

_No! _The laguz thought weakly. _I will not surrender! I am Lethe! I am laguz! I am no mere beast!_

But the scent of blood was driving _It _into a mad frenzy, and it pushed, ripped, tore at her senses, shrieked in barely contained hunger, clawed at her mind...

_I am Lethe..._she thought weakly. _I am...I AM..._

The impact of body against body. The sensation of sharp fangs in deep, soft, weak, defenseless flesh. The taste of blood. The thrill of the hunt.

_No...no, I..._

Satisfaction. Victory.

_I...I am..._

Hunger.

_I..._

Gone.

* * *

And there's another chapter for you all.

Again...I plan on showing Ike and Soren's decidedly unromantic relationship realistically. That's why Ike didn't throw himself passionately on an unresisting Soren when the two were left alone. Gasp.

Though on the note of Soren, does anybody else think he looks _creepily _like Uchiha Itachi from _Naruto? _It gives me the willies. I'm expecting Soren to whip out a murder spree or start creating crazy illusions with his decidedly red eyes any day now.

And while we're on Ike, howsabout that _Super Smash Brothers: Brawl? _I love that Ike's in it, but his character disappoints me. He's incredibly powerful, but he's so _slow..._it's impossible to get Smash Balls (or any item for that matter) with him before somebody else. And what good is a super-damage attack if it never _hits? _Ah well. His Final Smash makes me laugh gleefully every time. GREAT AETHER! So I'll keep practicing with him until I get better.

As always, if you leave a review, kindly give it some substance. I'd like to hear what you think—what's good? What's bad? What works? What doesn't? These things help me a lot, you know.

--Velkyn Karma


	5. Offensive Breakdown

**Feral**

Part five of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Note: **Apologies for the delay. Had some issues last Friday and have been busy ever since.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

* * *

"Besides—I rather think we've all got a bit of the savage in us—if we can think up a good excuse for letting it rip."

--_A Cat Among the Pigeons, _Agatha Christie

* * *

It was nearly noon of the following day when Zihark finally awoke.

Indeed, they had been lucky that the swordsman survived long enough to be treated at all, let alone to wake. His injuries had been severe. Another hour or two without aid would have inevitably resulted in his death from a mix of blood-loss and infection.

But the speedy efforts of Titania ensured that Zihark held on long enough to reach help. And Mordecai had delivered the request for aid with literally inhuman speed, allowing Rhys to depart with Oscar on his horse only an hour after the initial discovery was made. The frail priest was not fond of the hard ride, but was able to meet up with Titania as she was returning, treating the injured swordsman's most damaging injuries as soon as possible.

Immediate death countered, the rescued man had been delivered back to the mercenary troop's temporary headquarters. Ike had managed to request a cot for the swordsman upon his own return, and Zihark now rested silently in one corner of the room, away from the hustle and bustle of the map table. Rhys remained in the room as well; he tended his patient with his usual sincere and quiet care, patching up his less severe injuries and making sure the swordsman was comfortable in his rehabilitating rest.

Yet despite the priest's best efforts, Zihark remained in a deep and sound unconsciousness throughout the night. Not that this was truly unexpected, Ike had to admit. After receiving such horrific injuries, and nearly drowning as well, he could not blame the man for the rest he so obviously needed.

But the mercenary leader could not help the impatient feeling nagging at the back of his mind, telling him he was wasting time, that every second gone was another second that meant suffering or pain or even death for the missing laguz under his command. He felt responsible for Lethe and Mordecai; King Caineghis had willingly offered his warriors to aid in Ike's own assignment, and the commander knew it was his job to keep them safe as long as they traveled with him. Knowing that he had sent Lethe into a mission he had been suspicious about did not sit well with him, especially knowing the outcome as he did now.

Soren had tried to reassure him of course, in his own blunt manner. "Lethe knew perfectly well the dangers of the mission and accepted it anyway," the mage had said simply, even as he poured over the widespread maps of the region to plan the beginnings of a rescue strategy. "You should not feel so guilty."

But Ike could not quite quell the feeling of unease still in his stomach. Something seemed very _wrong _to him, something that his gut feeling churned over. Ike was sure that feeling would not go away until every single one of the men (or women) under his command were safe and sound within the palace once more.

It came as a great relief then when Titania came running down the palace halls in his direction at midday, the usual clank of her armor absent (she had taken to removing her armor while in the palace). "Zihark's waking up," she told him breathlessly. She had probably run around half the palace searching for him, before finding him in discussion with the merchant caravan members about purchasing weaponry. "Rhys said it's alright for him to talk to you, for a little while. He thought you might want to know."

Ike's head shot up in surprise, and he waved hastily to the merchants, cutting his conversation short. "I'll be back later," he promised, and without further ado turned to run back towards his suite of rooms, Titania hot on his heels.

Soren was waiting for them, and looked up with his usual cold, but now somewhat quizzical expression as they crashed through the doorway. The mage was busily unfurling several maps, searching for a specific roll of parchment, and nodded quietly to them as they approached.

"We need to hurry," he said without any preamble. "Zihark has been waking slowly and is still exhausted. Rhys estimates that he will probably fall asleep again soon. He is still too weak to function properly for long." He nodded his head towards the corner, where the gentle priest was quietly helping the weakened swordsman sit up.

"Right." Nodding, Ike walked over to the still sleepy patient, looking down at the man with his stern but friendly smile. "How are you feeling?"

Zihark looked up at him tiredly, but then offered a soft grin. "I've been better," the swordsman admitted. "Haven't...felt this beat up in quite a while..."

"What happened?" Titania asked, coming to stand on Ike's right side.

The silver-haired man frowned, as though trying to drag free a distant memory. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he opened his mouth and spoke. "We reached the scouting location...started to look around. Didn't even get to go very far. We got ambushed...there must have been twenty men at least. Maybe thirty."

"That many?" Ike asked incredulously. "Just to take out a pair of scouts?"

"That's...what I thought," Zihark said softly. His voice was just barely over a whisper—clearly he was still exhausted, and would not be talking for long.

Ike realized the danger of letting him sleep before they got their desired information, and pressed on quickly. "How did the battle go?"

The swordsman concentrated carefully and then spoke, his voice again soft and hesitant, as though he could not quite remember properly. "Started out alright...then too many. The cut me down...threw me in the river. Thought I'd die." He frowned, looking as though he were trying to puzzle out a complex problem, and then said suddenly, "Before that! Before that...they were throwing nets. Caught Lethe. Couldn't stop them...I tried though. Too many." He grimaced.

"That's alright," Ike said reassuringly, even though his stomach had flipped uncomfortably at the thought of Lethe being captured by laguz-hunting bandits. "You did your best against very strong odds, I'm sure."

"Yeah..." Zihark's voice had dropped to a mere whisper now, and his eyelids were fluttering slightly. Ike gave Rhys a worried look, and the priest shifted Zihark into a more comfortable position, handing the man a glass of water.

"He's exhausted," the young man explained to his commander, also looking vaguely worried. "I'm amazed he woke up this early as it is...his injuries were very severe."

The mercenary leader nodded, and made a mental note to order Rhys to get some rest once this was all over. The priest looked more sickly than usual, possibly due to staying up the entire night to tend to the wounded Zihark, and it wouldn't do to have their main healer falling ill as well.

The swordsman, meanwhile, had taken a sip of water quietly, and while he still looked dazed he appeared slightly more awake than he had before. There was no telling how long that would last, and so Ike dove right into business.

"Listen, Zihark," he said urgently, "we're going to try and get Lethe back. But we need to know where the bandit hideout is, so we can launch a rescue mission. Did either of you find even the slightest trace of where that base could be located?"

The silver-haired man paused, narrowed his eyes in dazed concentration--and slowly shook his head. "No. We didn't see it...ambushed too quickly..."

Ike's face fell, but he restored his expression to its usual stern-but-friendly look almost immediately. "I see. We'll just have to try something else then." With a sigh, the commander turned to his friend and tactician; Soren was standing a few paces behind him and to his left, a roll of parchment in one hand. "Soren, see if you can--"

"Iron! Iron and...human sweat," Zihark said suddenly, sitting up a little straighter and sloshing a few drops of water out of his cup and onto his hands.  
Ike blinked in surprise. "What was that?"

"She could smell it," the swordsman rasped, frowning in concentration. "Where the base was. 'Iron and human sweat' she said...across the river..." He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. "I can see it in my mind...a rough estimation...but I can't show you what I can see." He sighed tiredly. His voice had been draining slowly of all strength, and his eyelids were beginning to flutter again. Unconsciousness was beginning to summon him once more into the realm of restful sleep.

Quick as the lightning bolts he so effortlessly summoned, Soren moved forward, gently but firmly pushing Ike out of the way as he did so. With a practiced _snap, _the mage unrolled the parchment in his hand, laying it open across Zihark's knees.

"This is the estimated location you were sent to," Soren stated, pointing with one long, slim finger at a location on the map. "Pinpoint the location of the base."

The swordsman focused fuzzily on the map, slowly bringing his finger down to meet Soren's on the parchment. He thought carefully, translating the detailed images in his head into the inky locations on the page, and traced his finger across the river and slightly northeast.

"Within a few miles, she said..." Zihark murmured sleepily, his voice breathy and barely audible now. "Northeast...from there...so I'd guess there..." he tapped the map one final time, and Soren removed the parchment quickly, the indicated location already bored into his steel-trap mind.

"Good job, Zihark," Ike spoke up quickly, the appreciation in his voice genuine. "We'll be able to launch an effective rescue mission now. You just take it easy—you've done your part." The swordsman nodded tiredly and finally nodded off, Rhys bending over him to tend to his patient once more.

The mercenary commander turned to find Soren already at the table in the center of the room, map spread out before him. Feeling much more relieved now that they had a destination, he approached his friend, Titania trailing behind him. "So what do you think?"

Soren did not even look up, instead keeping his blood-red eyes focused on the points on the map that he was marking. "The location is logical. Approaching it will be difficult, but our force is sizable enough and should be able to accomplish the mission effectively."

"Good. I want the men ready to move out within the hour so we can get started--"

"No." Soren shook his head, making more notations on the map. "We must wait a little longer before we can leave."

"What are you talking about, Soren?" Ike asked, incredulous. "Before you said we had to wait until we could find a location. Well, we've got one now—so we should get moving! If Lethe's been taken by these laguz-catching bandits, it's too dangerous for her to stay in their grasp any longer than necessary."

"I realize you are anxious to leave," the mage responded flatly. "But to do so now would risk far more casualties than the life of one simple su--laguz."

Titania frowned, but said slowly, "Nightfall. That's what you're worried about, isn't it?"

Soren nodded in a rare moment of agreement with the knight. "Exactly. This base--" he tapped the newly indicated location on the map, "--is a day's journey away. I will reiterate my previous argument for not attacking it in the first place: to leave now would force us to camp overnight in enemy territory. Worse still, we would be forced to _attack_ at night, in a location that our enemy knows far better than we do. We risk guerrilla attacks from our opponents and cannot afford to take damage in such a way."

Ike frowned. "Then what's your plan?"

The spellcaster dipped his quill in a small bottle of ink and lowered it to the map, illustrating his strategy. "We leave at dusk, in approximately six to seven hours. Our men will travel until midnight towards the enemy encampment. This will leave us halfway between the city and the enemy's base." He indicated the spot on the map and continued.

"This location is ideal for several reasons. For one, it is outside the bandits' own territory. While they could still create an ambush for us here, it would be a poor tactic without knowing the battlegrounds or having a close base nearby to provide supplies and reinforcements. If they _do _attack, we will be on even ground—a condition I am sure they will avoid at all costs." Ike nodded. Soren added, "this location will also give our troops a place to rest in relative safety and prepare for the battle in the following day. Traveling a full day and expecting troops to battle with extraordinary prowess immediately following is not a reasonable or logical demand. Resting here will allow them to recover their strength, and they will be more prepared to fight later."

"Alright," the mercenary commander said after a moment. "That makes sense. When do we move forward?"

"At dawn," Soren answered promptly. "Your mercenaries will have had sufficient time to recover from half a day's travel, and we will then complete the second half of the journey. Without interruption, we should reach this bandit hideout by approximately midday. We will engage at this time, and hopefully have completed the rout before night falls...though of course I can make no promises without having seen the terrain or the structure of the fortress."

"That's fine," Ike answered. "I trust you, Soren. You'll pull us through, just like always." The mage simply nodded.

Titania shifted slightly and gave Ike a firm salute. "I'll inform everyone to be ready to leave by dusk," she said immediately, and headed for the door.

The young mercenary leader nodded after her, and then glanced down at the maps once more. "Anything else that needs taking care of, before we depart?" he asked slowly, giving his tactician a questioning look.

Soren shook his head. "I will arrange for food and supplies, as per usual," he answered simply. "You need not concern yourself with anything more for now. But I would suggest you rest while you can. You will probably need it."

"You're right," Ike admitted. "I don't really feel like sleeping, but I probably won't be getting any soon from the look of things."

"Go," the mage responded. "I'll take care of the arrangements. You just prepare to lead everyone. Get some rest. You'll need it."

"Right," the commander repeated, and headed off slowly for his temporary bedroom in the suite. His stomach was still churning from uncertainty, but at least his unease was being quelled slightly from finally taking _action. _Perhaps he _would _be able to sleep after all; the goddess only knew when he'd get it next.

If only he had known just how close that casual statement came to the truth. Sleep would elude him a long time yet.

* * *

_Hunger. Rage. Impatience. Hunger. Anger. Waiting..._

The cat paced restlessly, back and forth, dragging jangling chains behind it as though they were weightless. When it reached its limit it turned, pacing back along the cage bars, waiting, just waiting...

"My dear...can you understand me?"

Blood. It could smell blood, somewhere. Couldn't reach it. Wanted to. The scent was making it ravenous. Its jaws watered, dribbling ropes of drool down to the disgusting, waste-smeared floor. Paws slipped in the once-bloody mess, but it didn't care.

_Hunger. Hunt. Kill. Rage. Anger. Hunger. Attack. Kill. Maim. Impatience. Hunger..._

"Is there anything left to you at all in there?"

_Hsssss. _

The prey was closer. Making noises. So _weak_, soft, defenseless, obvious, and the cat was so _hungry..._

It launched itself at the bars, reaching small paws through the spaces as best as its restraints would allow. Slashed and scrabbled and reached to rip muscle free, tear bone loose, spray blood, feel _happy_...

No contact. No ripping. No tearing. No blood. No satisfaction.

The prey tutted. "My, my. Such an interesting case. I've seen specific actions finally provoke the feral nature free before, but never so quickly...or against such a determined sub-human! An interesting case indeed..."

The cat threw itself at the bars again, gnawing at the thick iron with sharp fangs. The prey was so _close, _it could smell it, and it wanted it, so badly. _Prey-hunt-anger-scent-blood-attack-kill-eat-kill-kill-kill!_

"But I wonder how well you can be controlled. So I think it is time to begin the second step of the Feral process: conditioning."

A sharp, high-pitched whistle shrieked through the air, lancing into the cat's sensitive ears and hungry mind. Suddenly it was screaming, yowling wildly, lurching back, rolling over and over on the disgusting floor, clawing at its head wildly. _PAIN-HURT-NOISE-STOP-PAIN-STOP-HURT--_

The whistle ended abruptly and the wailing feral mind calmed, whimpering. The cat cringed, laying belly down in its rancid cage, ears flat in misery.

"Interesting...a very effective result."

The cat did not care. The edges of pain were beginning to fade away, and it swished its tail slowly in confusion.

_Pain? Stop. Stop stop stop stop stop..._

" You've taught me quite--"

_Blood?_

"--a bit already, my dear."

_Blood! _

"Not interested, beast?"

_Hunger. Rage. Impatience. Hunger. Anger. Waiting._

"I see. Why don't we take a break, then?"

_Waiting..._

* * *

The Greil Mercenaries moved out promptly at dusk, the great gates of Sienne snapping shut behind them as they moved off into the sparse brush towards their destination.

After careful planning Soren had devised a route that followed alongside the river, crossing in its early stages before continuing along on the other side. The last thing they wanted, the tactician had explained to Ike while demonstrating the route on a map, was to be ambushed in mid-river when most of their men would be virtually helpless. Ike completely agreed.

With a slight frown, the mercenary commander glanced around at his forces, wondering if it would be enough. Zihark had been unable to travel or fight in his present condition, and had been left behind in the care of one of the palace priests. But disregarding the swordsman he had brought every man (or woman) that he could spare. Even Jill, still doubtful of the necessity of a rescue-mission for the laguz but curious despite herself, was soaring lightly overhead on her wyvern, acting as an advance scout.

But Zihark had said at least thirty men had ambushed he and Lethe, and Ike had no way of knowing if there were even more bandits secured away in their hold. His small force of twenty-one were strong and loyal, and he had no doubt that they could hold out against immeasurable odds; but even his rash mind knew the difference between immeasurable and impossible. He would not risk another lost life among the men that trusted him and called him leader, not if he could help it.

"Nothing for it," he said under his breath with a sigh. They were moving out, and there would be no turning back now. He would be sure to discuss the situation at length with Soren when they came to rest.

The journey was quiet and uneventful, and they moved along Soren's route with as much haste as could be mustered in the dark (only a few torches were lit, by the mage's orders). After two hours of travel they reached a shallow point in the river, were several large boulders and rocks had managed to burst free from the rushing waters, and the tactician had them cross to the other side. Apart from Rolf being knocked from his brother's horse by the river's flow and nearly drowning, the task was completed without incident (and Marcia was thanked profusely by Oscar for fishing the sopping archer free from the current).

The mercenary band talked among themselves as they moved, holding friendly conversations with new and old friends alike, strengthening bonds and loyalties. But the atmosphere was subdued, and the pressure that fell over their shoulders was strong. They understood the circumstances of their mission, that a missing comrade of theirs could be in grave danger, and that knowledge smothered any traces of a friendly mood. Even Boyd's joking antics seemed less enthusiastic than usual.

But at last they reached their break point and set out to erect hasty canvas tents and first watches. Since they would not remain at the tents for long, they had brought very few, doubling and tripling inhabitants so as to carry as few supplies as possible. No fires were allowed, and so the mercenaries ate their food cold in the dark, and curled up to rest as best as possible in the hours they had until dawn.

Ike found Soren scribbling tactical notations on a spare piece of parchment in the center of the camp when the bustle of arrival finally settled. The mage's ability to read and write perfectly in the dark never ceased to amaze the commander, though he supposed there was enough light from the glittering stars and half-full moon above to provide for fairly accurate sight.

"You should be resting," the mage scolded immediately, not even looking up from his note-taking as he did so.

"I could say the same to you," Ike responded wryly, "but I know it won't do any good, so I don't."

Soren snorted lightly. "Did you need something?"

"I'm wondering about tomorrow. I have no doubt in my team of course..."

"But the lack of information about the opposing side unsettles you," the tactician finished immediately. "Understandable."

Ike shook his head slightly. Of course his best friend would catch onto his meaning. "What do you think?"

"Truthfully?" Soren asked, finally looking up from his notes to fix the mercenary leader with his customary emotionless look.

"Do you ever answer any other way?" the young commander asked with a short, rather humorless, laugh.

The mage shrugged and went back to his scribbling. "Truthfully, I believe the extra precautions for Lethe's rescue are unnecessary. If she has been caught by these bandits, who specialize in catching laguz, then I doubt she will still be there. Or even alive."

Ike frowned. "Soren--"

"You asked for my honest opinion," the mage reminded him. "In our previous two encounters the cargo we apprehended was being shipped to another location. You know as well as I that cargo consisted of su--laguz."

"Yeah...but that doesn't mean trying a rescue mission is unnecessary."

"I'm not discounting the possibility," Soren admitted. "But personally I find it extremely unlikely. However, since you have asked me to take into account the rescue as well as the rout, I have been careful to devise several strategies that will hopefully allow us to remove Lethe safely from the battle." He tapped the parchment, careful not to spit ink all over his robes.

Ike grinned slightly. "Sometimes I wonder if you're a miracle worker, Soren," he said jokingly.

"Hardly." The mage's response was dry, but his lips twitched slightly in amusement. "Rest assured, tomorrow you will have victory...and perhaps the promise of an extra bonus from the Apostle for being so prompt with her assignments." He gave Ike a look. "Of course, _that _outcome depends entirely upon your survival, which in turn means you must be well rested to keep up your strength in battle."

The commander snorted. "Alright, I can take a hint." Stretching slightly, he stood, shaking loose grass and dirt from his red cloak as he did so.

"Good." And without another word, Soren returned once more to his parchment, scribbling out another line of tight, neat script with surprising speed.

"Just make sure you get a little sleep too," Ike added warningly over his shoulder as he moved away. "I don't want _you _dead either because you were too exhausted on the battlefield." There was a small _humph _in response, but then the mercenary leader was out of earshot, striding towards his own tent.

Tomorrow they would have victory. That was a comforting thought to Ike, but something else still tugged persistently at the very edges of his mind, nagging in a whisper just too soft to hear.

Tomorrow they would have victory. But what would they find once they seized it?

* * *

And there we have chapter five. Big battle next chapter folks—some hardcore action and lots of old-fashioned swordfightin' fun!

This site is being stupid again, and once again has deleted all of my page/scene breaks. So I apologize for the apparent confusion of last chapter—there WERE breaks there until this site upgraded. I've gone back and fixed this story up, but the others may be a problem seeing as I don't have them stored on this site anymore. Tch.

If you review, kindly tell me what you thought was good. Or what you didn't. What was done well? What could be done better? Help with this information is much appreciated!

--Velkyn Karma


	6. Subtle Crash

**Feral**

Part six of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

* * *

"Good evening. This is a diversion."

--Richard, _Looking for Group_

* * *

The sun was just past its zenith, glaring into the watchman bandit's squinting face, when the first arrow struck him straight between the eyes.

Rolf was exhilarated with the success of his shot, but did not waste time patting himself on the back, and strung another arrow as quickly as he could. Ike had asked him to take down as many enemies as possible with quick, single shots to clear the way for the ground forces, and he was determined to do his best. He'd show Boyd—who'd be the peewee _then, _huh?

Below his tree-perch the ground forces surged forward, yelling loudly to draw the attention of the enemy forces. Titania, Oscar, Kieran and Makalov, all mounted and with weapons drawn, lead the charge. The thundering of hooves and the press of massive bodies racing towards their enemies sent the bandits scurrying in fear to get out of the way.

Behind them, Brom, Gatrie, Mia, Nephenee and Boyd followed, systematically targeting and attacking the scattered enemies in the momentary shelter of their surprise attack. Their offensive was secondarily a defense as well, allowing Ilyana and Astrid to move forward unhindered, striking enemies from afar with thunder and arrow alike.

The bandits were shaken by the initial surprise attack, and many of them fell to the Greil Mercenaries' skilled hands. But with a roar they suddenly began to recover, shouting loudly for reinforcements as they regrouped and launched their own attack.

The mercenaries were ready, and with a yell of command from Titania their formation shifted, falling back and forming a horseshoe shape that swept away from the enemy. Hidden inside the protective shape, Ilyana and Astrid continued their far-ranged attacks, cutting down more bandits as they surged forward to engage with their close-combat allies. Rolf's arrows added to the fray, and before the bandits had even reached their opponents several more were brought down, incapacitated or dead.

And then the cutthroats crashed against the defensive horseshoe in a wave. With clashes of metal on metal and screams of defiance and rage, the battle was on.

The Greil mercenaries fought savagely, dropping enemies where they stood regardless of their own injuries, and the lines stood firm. Yet despite their determination, many of them were appalled at the numbers of cutthroats that swarmed from what was practically a small _fortress _in the middle of this sparse forest. Soren's tactics were efficient, but even he would have been shocked if he had known the true extent to the numbers they were facing.

But Soren was not present, and could not see just how dangerous the odds were. Nor was Ike, nor Mordecai, nor Rhys, all of whom would have been deeply useful in their present situation.

Soren's strategy had been concise and simple, once he had set eyes on the bandit's fortress. The defensive possibilities of that hideout were virtually endless, meaning that it was necessary to goad their enemies out of their protective walls and gates. To that end, most of the mercenary forces had formed a diversionary expedition, designed to engage in combat and entice the bandits to leave their stronghold. Titania was given command of this force.

Once sufficient forces had been pulled free, a smaller, secondary force—consisting of Ike, Soren, Mordecai, and Rhys—were to slip inside the building, wipe out enemies from within, and locate their missing companion. With luck, they could also locate the leader of these thugs, and the mage had every confidence in their cowardice. If their leader were killed, the others were likely to retreat to save their own skins. "Cut off the head of the snake," Soren had said calmly, "and the rest will cease to move."

Simple enough on paper, and (Titania had to admit) it had seemed reasonable at the time. But now, with enemy numbers nearly twice the originally estimated amount, her unit would be hard-pressed to hold out long enough to force a counterattack.

No matter. They would survive, and succeed, just as they always had. Determination flaring, she brought her ax smashing down on the skull of another particularly vicious, burly fighter. Her opponent collapsed instantly, blood spurting, and she spun her horse to face her next opponent.

There was a sharp cry of pain from behind her, along with a triumphant yell from a hoarse voice Titania could only assume belonged to an enemy. Looking around quickly, she was just in time to spot Nephenee stumbling sideways and crashing to the ground, bleeding badly from a wound in her side. Like water the bandits began to flood through the break in the line, making for the defenseless long-range combatants in the center.

A shadow fell over lunging bandits, and one man looked up just in time to find a screeching, toothy set of jaws reaching for him. Jill's lance plunged home through the man's ribcage to his heart seconds later, and the man collapsed with a scream of fear and pain. Holding onto its momentum, the wyvern soared skywards and circled around for another attack, allowing Marcia's spectacular aerial dive just enough room for another powerful and effective lancing. Another bandit fell dead.

Shocked at the display of air support, the trickle of bandits pressing through the formation staggered to a halt momentarily. Needing no further invitation, Boyd and Gatrie closed the gap, stabbing and slashing at their enemies to halt further entry while standing over their fallen comrade protectively. Nephenee, gasping, managed to drag herself further into the defensive form, where Mist rushed forward to meet her. Softly mumbled prayers were followed by a flash of light, and the woman staggered to her feet, dragging up her lance once more with a sense of exhausted determination.

"Tighten formation!" Titania roared loudly over the screeching and clashing of battle. "Pull back! Cavalry, forward!"

It seemed impossible that the mercenaries would have heard her over the noise, but amazingly they managed, pulling backwards into a close circle. Spurring her horse sharply, the deputy-commander lead a second charge; Oscar, Kieran, and Makalov followed her into the fray (Kieran laughing somewhat dangerously) to try and cut down the numbers approaching their defense. Spotting their tactics, both Marica and Jill swept in for air support, circling over the hoard of bandit attackers and whittling down numbers with thrusting lances and carefully thrown javelins.

The defense was sound, and could possibly hold out a while yet. When Boyd finally collapsed, too damaged to continue, Nephenee leaped forward immediately from the center of the ring to take his place. And when Mia staggered back not too long following, a newly healed and slightly rested Boyd was there to take _her_ place, continuing the cycle. Ilyana and Astrid continued to devastate the enemy numbers with arrows and magic, and Rolf's bow added to their support; his location had miraculously remained hidden and unnoticed by the bandits, though (both Oscar and Boyd thought worriedly) there was no guarantee on how long that would last.

And yet, Titania knew, despite their commendable efforts, and despite her offensive charge, they would not last forever. She and the other mounted soldiers would survive longer with the size, speed, and muscle of their steeds to aid them against their unmounted enemies, but even the small injuries she and her companions were receiving added up. Eventually one—or more—of them would fall. And it was only a matter of time before the bandits brought out bowmen to eradicate Marcia or Jill, or exhausted the defensive line so much that breeches were made in more than one location.

"Hurry, Ike," she gasped under her breath, even as she swung her ax around to smash jarringly into an opponent's spine. "We can't keep this up forever. We need your help, or their leader dead. _Hurry!_"

She knew he wouldn't hear her. But somehow it gave her hope to dream.

* * *

Ike brought his sword down in a graceful arc, slicing open his opponent—a heavily muscled man wielding a wicked-looking ax—from shoulder to hip. The man opened his mouth to scream, but a second effective thrust through his throat silenced him permanently.

Glancing further down the hall, he spotted Mordecai's tiger form rolling off of another ax-bearing enemy. The man's neck and back were broken. Undoubtedly dead. Shifting his gaze behind him, he matched gazes with the ever-wary Soren, magic tome in hand, and the softer, more gentle stare of Rhys, waiting further behind until the combat was finished.

"Let's go. Hurry!" Ike commanded, and without waiting the two magic users jumped forward into a run, following their leader down the fortress halls. Mordecai had already bounded down the passage, sniffing ahead for Lethe's scent to try and locate her in the maze of enemy territory.

Breaking into the enemy stronghold had been surprisingly easy, Ike thought with a frown as he ran. Once the sounds of battle had begun, the brutes had all but abandoned their posts, greedy with thoughts of looting. It had been a simple task for his small force to slip through the gates and into the fortress unnoticed, even for Rhys.

They met up with pockets of resistance inside the hallways, of course. But with constrained quarters and the edge of surprise, it was easy for Ike's smaller force to seize these advantages and employ them fully. Mordecai and Ike were more than a match for the cutthroats they encountered, with Soren providing magical support from what passed for 'rear lines,' and Rhys healing any minor injuries they received.

It was too easy, and Ike didn't like it when things were too easy. It meant something was inevitably going to go wrong...if it had not already. But it was too late to turn back now, and the commander was fully committed to completing the task before him.

They reached the end of the long passageway just as Mordecai bounded around the corner, nearly running the mercenary leader over as he returned to them. "I found the scent," the laguz growled through his square feline muzzle, ill-equipped to deal with the common tongue. "Hurry. Follow me."

The beorc did not hesitate to comply, and leaped forward after him as the tiger thudded down the hallways once more (though Rhys was starting to lag somewhat and clutched at a stitch forming in his side with a grimace). Following the invisible trail only he could sense, Mordecai weaved through the twists and turns of the massive fortress hallways, careening down stairs and ramps that led continuously further below their previous levels.

After nearly ten minutes of navigating, Soren informed them breathlessly that they were doubtless below the ground's surface now. Judging from the cooler, more damp quality of the air, Ike had no reason to disagree with the tactician's observation. So he said nothing, continuing to chase the massive blue laguz just up ahead, until he nearly careened into the tiger's huge flank when Mordecai came to a sudden halt.

Panting only slightly, Ike was just about to ask the tiger what was wrong when he heard voices, muffled but still discernible, just around the corner.

"No! By the hells, I won't have those things fighting out alongside my band!" the first voice—deep and gruff sounding, Ike noted—growled savagely.

"Fool," the second voice responded, voice small and oily. "I am offering you victory. Nothing can defeat the Feral. Those mercenaries will be wiped out in mere seconds against their strength."

"My men'll die too!" the first voice said angrily. "Those bloodthirsty _beasts _would kill them just as soon as anyone, and you know it!"

"They will do no such thing. I have trained them well, you know."

"_That _one still wants to kill you!"

The second voice sniffed disdainfully. "That one is an exception, as are a few others. I assure you, only the trained Feral would be released--"

"I won't have it, you damned fool! My men are more than capable. We outnumber those bastards three to one. They _won't _have my hard-won shipments!"

"What's going on?" Soren whispered from Ike's left, finally catching up to the much faster commander and tiger. Behind him, Rhys staggered to a halt as well, panting as he rubbed the stitch at his side painfully.

"Shh," Ike responded quietly. "Listen."

The second, oily voice gave another _tsk. _"You _are _a fool, and clearly you haven't read the reports on that mercenary band. The Greil Mercenaries are renowned for overcoming even the most harrowing situations. They have an excellent tactician among their members, and many strong fighters. Even with three-to-one odds, the chances that they will win—or at least severely devastate your numbers—are quite high. I will say it one last time—you require my help, with the aid of the Feral."

"I will _not_ accept your damned pets for help! You're here to research and get us gold. So do your job and stay out of _my _business!"

The second voice sounded disgusted. "As you wish."

Soren shifted his book of aerokinetic magics from one hand to another, his long fingers delicately running over the beaten leather bindings as he prepared for another spell. "I believe we have found the head of the proverbial snake, Ike," he said, remarkably calm.

The mercenary leader nodded in agreement. "Right. We take out their leader, and maybe the bandits outside will lose morale. They're probably expecting him to show up on the battlements soon—if he doesn't make it there, they may start getting nervous, making mistakes." The others nodded in agreement, and their commander leveled his sword, beginning to move for the bend in the passage. "Let's go!"

A pair of heavy wooden doors, opened barely a crack, met them almost immediately. Despite their imposing stature, they posed no problem at all. With a roar of defiance and a fierce lunge, Mordecai body-checked the useless barricade, sending the massive oak doors wide with a resounding, teeth-jarring crash. Not for the first time, Ike found himself exceedingly grateful to have the huge tiger on _his _side.

Shuffling his thoughts back to the matter at hand, the mercenary leader swept through the now-wide doors, sword at the ready. Soren and Rhys took up positions behind he and Mordecai, both with magical items prepared as well. As one, their eyes lifted to meet their newest threat.

They were standing in a fairly large room, enough for decent movement in a heated six-on-six battle at least. It also meant there was plenty of room for flanking, which meant Ike would have to be careful not to expose Soren or Rhys for too long. Thankfully, the room was not filled to the brim with enemy soldiers, making that protection much more possible—though not probable, he thought grimly, as he glared hotly across at their enemies.

There were only two beorc there, but Ike knew immediately that they were dangerous. The first man, clearly the leader of the bandits, was a thick-muscled, massive beorc with dark hair and a scowling disposition. Upon their entrance he glared at them dangerously, shifting an ax of such enormous size on one shoulder that Ike was sure it rivaled even his father's own once-favored weapon.

The second man was smaller, but judging from his robes and the small book slung at his belt, Ike knew he was no less dangerous. A mage, probably, though a disgusting one at that. The man's hair was long and greasy, and his skin seemed paler than even Soren's, as though he had not seen daylight in decades.

More disturbing still was the chain held firmly in one of the smaller man's hands; it snaked down to a leather collar that was firmly latched around the neck of a massive gray tiger laguz. The tiger's fur was a dull, sickly gray, but its muscles rippled no less powerfully, and the eight-inch fangs lancing from its powerful jaws looked as dangerous as ever.

Beside him, Mordecai growled angrily at such treatment, and his muscles tensed as though ready to pounce. Ike could not blame him. Seeing a laguz treated like a pet made his stomach twist in disgust and fury.

"Release that laguz immediately," he ordered, stepping forward to address the magic user. Rage boiled through his senses, barely hidden behind the facade of a calm voice.

"I don't think you want me to," the mage answered with a wry smirk. His hand tightened on the chain as the laguz beside him growled lowly in Mordecai's direction, shifting on its massive paws. To the young commander's surprise, the man drew free a silver whistle from his robes and blew the tiny object with perfect calm. Ike heard nothing, but the gray tiger responded with a roar and fell, whimpering, to its belly, and even Mordecai gave a groaning hiss of surprise beside him.

The mercenary leader's rage leaped higher, and now he could not restrain the touch of anger in his voice. "Release that laguz _immediately,_" he repeated, "or I will _make _you." To emphasize his point he slashed his sword through the air once, warningly.

"If you are going to wave your sword around at anyone," the greasy man responded coldly, "it would be better directed at Korren, here. I am to keep out of his business, after all."

Ike glanced at the massive axeman quickly, but did not allow himself to be distracted. "Do not make me say it again," he ordered warningly.

"Do not make _me _repeat myself, either," the mage responded, a trace of amusement in his tone. "I don't think you _want _me to set this beast loose."

"Enough!" Mordecai roared, his growling words reverberating around the room. "Set my brother tiger free. _Now!_" And with a vicious growl he began to pace forward menacingly, tail swishing.

The mage looked annoyed, but not intimidated. "Alas, what can I do against the pleas of both man and beast?" he said mockingly. "Fine then...I will obey your command." And, quick as lightning, his hand ducked down to the beast's collar, unsnapping the leather bond from the gray tiger's neck. "_Ripper, attack!_" He yelled sharply. "_Destroy them all!_"

The sickly-looking beast responded with an ear-bleeding scream and churned forward instantly, its bloodshot eyes coming to rest on a startled-looking Rhys. But with a roar of defiance Mordecai leaped forward to tackle the enraged beast, and they fell in a storm of blue-gray struggling, slashing paws, and teeth-jarring snarls.

Encouraged, or perhaps startled, into engaging his own opponent, Korren roared his own battle-cry and lunged forward towards the remaining beorc. Ike moved forward to engage him instantly, his mind first and foremost on keeping the massive ax-wielder away from his magic-using companions. Soren would be able to protect Rhys from the other mage if it came down to a fight, but if this man was allowed near either of them the injuries they would take would be unquestionably mortal.

The huge ax came whistling down towards its enemy's skull with amazing speed, far more than Ike would have given the man credit for if size alone was enough to judge by. Parrying such a massive strike would be well nigh impossible, and so the mercenary jumped to the left to get out of range. The weapon slashed through the edges of his old red cloak as though it were air and smashed into the stone floor with such a jarring _thud _that the swordsman actually stumbled sideways from the impact.

Whipping around to face his enemy once more, Ike brought his sword up in a guard stance and cursed himself for being so careless. How many times had his father lectured him in their practice spars about judging an enemy too early? _Assumptions will kill, _Greil had drilled him into him firmly. _Don't ever let them enter your mind, or they will ultimately be the true things to take your life._

Korren had now succeeded in ripping the massive ax free from the stone and whirled to face Ike once more, a fierce scowl on his face. "Fast little brat you are," he said angrily. "I'll kill you for making me look the fool."

"Are you the one who authorizes capturing these laguz? Turning them into...into mindless _things _like that?" the mercenary leader responded coldly. Neither man turned to look, but the high-pitched snarling and whining on the other side of the room was enough indication for both of them.

Korren sneered. "I catch'em, yeah," he answered. "But I don't mess with their empty little sub-human heads. That's the Overseer's job. I just sell'em."

"That's still unforgivable," Ike said angrily. "You'll pay for treating people like that."

"They ain't people, they're beasts," the man snapped back. "But I ain't gonna bother lecturing you, 'cause you're about to be dead!" And with another roar, the man launched forwards once more, swinging his ax downward in what promised to be another spectacular body-splitting blow.

This time Ike was ready, and he was armed with knowledge of his enemy' abilities. As the massive weapon came swinging downward, the young commander jumped once more to avoid the blow, this time forwards and towards the right. The ax shattered stone as it met with the floor, and Korren looked bewildered to find his enemy had escaped him twice.

It would be the last expression he would ever make. Turning his forward momentum to his advantage, Ike drew back his sword and plunged it deep into the bandit leader's ribcage with a grisly, audible _snap. _The blade slid home in Korren's waiting heart, and the man did not even have time to scream in surprise before his end came.

It was lucky, Ike realized moments later, that his forward momentum had transferred to the now limp body, driving it backward. Had Korren's dead weight landed on him, he was not entirely sure he would be able to drag himself free without Mordecai's help. As it was, the mercenary was forced to release his sword before the body hit the ground and dragged him with it—Korren's thick torso, in one last act of defiance, seemed adamant about refusing to release his weapon.

Panting with exertion, Ike rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and glanced sharply in the direction of the warring tigers, trying to make sense of the battle. Both laguz were covered in blood and moving it rapidly, making it difficult to discern exactly what was going on. But it seemed that, despite the vicious struggling, Mordecai had the upper hand and was close to finishing the battle. His massive fangs were sunk deep in the gray tiger's thick mane and neck, and while it screeched and lashed angrily its energy was clearly draining away.

At last, after several long minutes, Mordecai withdrew from his opponent. The nameless laguz's head fell lifelessly to the floor, splashing soundlessly into a pool of its own life fluids, and with a tired sigh Mordecai shifted back into his half-beorc form and limped towards them.

Rhys hurried forwards to meet the laguz immediately, his focus item (a stave) glowing to life as he began murmuring prayers of healing. Frowning, Ike recovered his sword, joined them, and looked over at the dead laguz. It had remained a tiger even in death. Odd—he had been told that all laguz reverted to their half-beorc forms when they died. "What...what happened to him?"

"I do not know," Mordecai murmured sadly, staring at his fellow laguz in dismay. "There was something...bad...about his scent. He did not understand me. He did not speak. I had to...save him." He paused, fishing helplessly for the right vocabulary, but Ike nodded in understanding.

"We saw the same thing in our first mission for the apostle," he said softly. "It didn't look like they could be saved any other way." Mordecai nodded silently, and waited patiently for Rhys to finish his healing.

"I do not wish to interrupt," Soren said calmly, in a tone that clearly stated otherwise, "but that other magic-user has vanished."

"What?!" Startled and angry, Ike whipped around, staring at a second pair of double doors nearest to where the greasy man had stood earlier. "No! He _especially _has to be stopped."

"I can follow him," Mordecai answered immediately, though his voice still betrayed a hint of fatigue.

His beorc commander frowned. "Are you sure? You can't transform to chase him, can you?"

"I can." Nodding quietly, the laguz drew a small orange stone from a cord around his neck, holding it up for the three beorc to see. "This stores energy. I can borrow it to gain strength and change. They are rare, so I do not wish to use it unless it is an emergency."

"But this is an emergency," Ike finished in agreement. "Hurry, then. We don't know where he's gone, but if he has more laguz like that, I don't want to give him a chance to set them loose. Let's go!" Mordecai slipped back into his tiger form with a roar of agreement, and the four bolted down the hallways in hot pursuit of the disgusting mage.

The Overseer, Korren had called him. Ike frowned as he pounded down the hallways, Soren hot on his heels, Mordecai thundering ahead of him. A man who did experimentations on laguz, amongst a massive band of laguz-catching cutthroats.

And Lethe was somewhere in this maze of corruption with them.

Ike was beginning to piece together the exact operations here, and the implications were not good. And while he could hope for the best with unfaltering determination, the young commander was suddenly very afraid of what he would find at this journey's end.

* * *

And there is yet another chapter done. And part one of the battle. No worries folks; next chapter Lethe'll be found, never fear. We've still got a ways to go, regardless.

You all seem to be enjoying my interpretation of Soren, for which I'm glad. Soren is just too awesome to be interpreted poorly.

If you leave a review, kindly make sure it's something with substance! I want to hear what you liked about this chapter. How about what you _didn't _like? What could have been done better? What do you think as done just right? Your input is important to me as a writer, so help me out here!

--Velkyn Karma


	7. Unexpected

**Feral**

Part seven of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Note: **Once again, apologies for the delay in updating. My life has been quite hectic recently. Mmm, college.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

* * *

"This is not the enemy  
Flesh and blood have been deceived  
When we've moved beyond the anger  
We will see  
We've got to rescue the prisoner  
Rescue the prisoner."  
--­Rescue the Prisoner, Twila Paris

* * *

Rolf had been excited at the prospect of being _useful,_ and exhilarated to learn that his archery skills would protect his friends in the battle against the bandits. What he _hadn't _counted on was several of the brutes locating his carefully chosen, hidden position.

Yelling in panic, the young boy fired another arrow from his high perch in the branches of the trees, catching another of the bandits in the throat. Part of him noted vaguely that his accuracy was improving, but he was far too worried about the remaining two cutthroats, swarming towards his tree with undeniably blood-thirsty intentions, to really care.

The first man began to climb with a vicious leer on his face, digging his ax into the tree bark to gain a better grip, and Rolf's heart fluttered in fear. They were too close for a good bow-shot now, and where was he supposed to run when he was trapped up in a tree? His fingers drew an arrow from his quiver automatically and began to bring it to his bow, little good that it would do him.

"Yer dead now, kid!" the bandit roared gleefully, his hand clenching at the tree limb that Rolf was perched on. Now thoroughly panicked, the boy did the first thing he could think of. Snatching his loose arrow up firmly in his hand, he brought it down in a sweeping, clumsy arc to meet the bandit's clutched fist.

The delicate shaft snapped on impact, but the feeble attack was effective. The arrowhead drove deeply into the surprised bandit's hand, and with a yell of pain he let go of his only grip, crashing to the ground below. He wasn't dead, Rolf noted grimly, only dazed, but that solved his problem. Temporarily, at least.

The second man, bearing a long, curved sword, glared up at him dangerously. He looked far more agile than the lumbering axeman, and Rolf realized in a new wave of panic that he would probably _climb _much faster, too.

The swordsman knew it as well, and reached up for the closest limb to heft himself into the tree—then stopped, shocked, as a green blur smashed into him from the brush on the right. He shrieked in surprise, but the sound cut off at the same time that Rolf spotted blood spraying wildly, and the next moment the bandit was laying dead on the ground with his throat open.

The ax-bandit, just recovering from his dazed fall, screamed in dismay and tried to charge, swinging his weapon around in a wide arc. The offending green blur dodged sideways with surprising speed and ghosted around the weapon, and another spray of blood followed seconds later. The bandit's ax dropped and he fell to the ground, lifeless.

Rolf stared in surprise as the blur came effectively to a halt and looked up at him. Amber eyes met green, and the young archer started in recognition.

"Sothe!" he greeted, the relief evident in his voice. "Where did you--"

"Get down! Hurry." The young thief's eyes flickered around carefully, searching for a new threat. "We need to move."

Rolf blinked in confusion, but sudden understanding came to him as his mind shifted back to one of his previous lessons with his old teacher. _Snipers are meant to provide cover for their allies without being seen, _Shinon had lectured him sharply. _So if you get caught, don't stand around like an idiot begging to get killed! Find a new secure location and continue to support your division._

Scrambling down hastily from his now-un-secure tree perch, the young archer dropped to the dirt floor of the sparse forest and questioned, "What are you doing here?"

Sothe blinked silently for a minute, but slowly answered, "Ike told me to help out in the battle in my own way. C'mon, follow me."

Rolf complied, attempting to slip through the brush and trees with the silence and skill of his present companion. "And that's not out there on the battlefield?"

"No. I can fight in small battles. But that's not a small battle," the young thief finished flatly. "So I'll help in other ways." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, plainly indicating the two dead bandits he had dispatched.

"Yeah. Thanks for that," Rolf said, his voice filled with both genuine relief and tired friendliness.

Sothe ignored the thanks and continued speaking as though Rolf had said nothing. "Once we get some distance without being found, you pick a new place to shoot from, and I'll make sure you don't get attacked again."

"Got it," the archer agreed. Warfare was bewildering—he could not ever recall having spoken to Sothe before since he had joined the Greil Mercenaries on the ship. And yet here they were, making a rather unusual, but surprisingly productive, team. Dire circumstances created unusual results, he supposed, and without further ado began to count the remaining arrows in his quiver as he followed his new companion.

* * *

Mordecai ran tirelessly through yet another twisted maze of passages and down one more level, his three beorc companions hot on his heels. Rhys was lagging again, clearly not used to this much stress on his frail form, but he followed them doggedly and without complaint. Soren was breathing heavily as well, but never allowed himself to fall more than a few steps behind his leader's trailing red cloak.

Ike did not find the chase tiring, but his mind was whirling with the possibilities of what they would find. How had this Overseer managed to control that tiger laguz back there? What kind of experiments was he _running _in this place? Worse still, how many more nameless, crazed laguz would they find before they could put a stop to this madness?

He was so preoccupied he nearly collided with an unmoving Mordecai for the second time in close to an hour, and berated himself for not paying attention. The blue tiger had paused at an intersection of hallways and was sniffing at the air slowly, nose twitching as he searched for a particular scent.

"What is it?" Ike asked slowly. "Did you lose him?" _Not now, _he hoped. They couldn't afford it now.

"No," Mordecai answered slowly. "I can track him still. He is foul...his soul is sick." The tiger growled lowly, and his lips twitched in what Ike assumed passed for a grimace or frown amongst transformed laguz. "But there is something else..."

"What do you mean?"

The laguz lifted one massive paw and indicated the rightmost hallway. "He is that way. But something smells...bad. Very bad. Very...wrong. It comes from that way, too."

"Undoubtedly whatever formulas he is using to force control," Soren said with a rasp, attempting to catch his breath. "Whether it be magic or potion, the results will be the same."

Mordecai shook his head slowly. "It does not smell like that," the great tiger growled. "It smells like...rot. Like death. But not death..." He flattened his ears in confusion with another low growl that the three beorc felt in the depths of their chests.

"It doesn't matter," Ike said flatly, eyes narrowed. "If he's there, then we need to stop him, before he can do any more damage." He lifted his sword and began running down the indicated hallway, and without hesitation the other three followed.

The passageway was long and branched off into many other rooms, but Mordecai indicated that they should continue moving straight. The laguz' nose did not lie, and soon they were face to face with another pair of wooden doors, lighter this time and slightly ajar. Unhesitatingly Ike shoved them open, striding through into the next room with his sword at the ready.

The fireball hit him almost immediately, and Ike yelled in surprise and pain as he stumbled backwards. His shoulder-guard had fortunately deflected the intensity of the blow, but flames still ran down his left arm and scorched his clothing and skin, leaving a nasty cracked burn that protested immediately when moved.

It hurt, but the young mercenary knew better than to stand in place, and he threw himself to the side as a second fireball went roaring past. It burst onto the stone floor and crackled angrily before vanishing. Ike took advantage of his opponent's surprised pause to take hold of his position and surroundings.

Clearly they had caught the Overseer before he could release any other experiments, though they had been cutting it close. Judging from the thick ring of keys in the greasy man's free hand, they had been only minutes away from an attack by the goddess-only-knew how many crazed laguz. The mage was to their left, near a large collection of iron boxes, and looked rather shocked that he had not managed to eliminate his attacker immediately.

But these observations came within bare seconds, and then Soren rushed into the room, placing himself firmly between the crouching mercenary leader and his magical attacker. Ike could feel the pressure in the room swirling rapidly as his friend conformed it to his will, and his robes were beginning to billow wildly in what promised to be a spectacular _indoor _windstorm.

The Overseer felt it as well, and raised his hands expertly, summoning raging embers above his head to counter his magical opponent's attack. There was an oily smirk on his face, and as his own magical attack grew it was clear he believed that he had the advantage.

He thought wrong, Ike knew. He had once asked Soren to explain the basics of magical attacks to him—nothing too involved, just enough to have an understanding of mage battle tactics so he could counter them effectively. The aggressive nature of fire magic was usually too powerful for the more subtle nature of aerokinetics, making fire mages an excellent choice in combat against wind users. "But do not be misled," Soren had cautioned him. "A natural advantage such as this means nothing against a mage with exceptional power and skill."

The Overseer might have had the better spell, but he was clearly outmatched in ability. As his massive fireball launched, crackling ferociously, Soren's hand slashed upwards in a slicing motion and the gathering pressure around him was released. With a whistling shriek the magic-strengthened wind surged forward, snuffing the flames instantly and smashing the bewildered enemy mage against the nearest iron crate.

"Ike!" the tactician called immediately, turning to look over his shoulder. "Are you alright?" His normally cold expression held a hint of concern.

"I'm fine," Ike responded, standing. His burned arm throbbed, but he could live with it until Rhys could heal it. "Did you--"

"He is still alive," Soren answered immediately, before Ike could finish. "I thought perhaps you would wish to question him."

"Yeah." Glancing in the Overseer's direction, the commander frowned. The box he was leaning against was shaking heavily, and Ike was sure he could hear a keening _scream _coming from the other side.

Mordecai paced into the room now, Rhys following carefully behind him. The laguz bared his teeth in anguish and disgust. "I do not like this place. It is _wrong _here."

"I know what you mean," the mercenary leader responded grimly, as Rhys approached him to heal his still-smoking injury. Now that the heat of battle was beginning to fade, even Ike could smell the blood and decay in the air. A chill ran up his spine. Mordecai was right—something was very wrong about this place.

Not that he could see most of it yet. The majority of the room was steeped in shadow, with only a few small torches to light up the far wall. From what Ike could discern there appeared to be shelves covered in liquids and books there, but he had not the faintest inkling about what they might mean.  
The Overseer was beginning to recover from Soren's attack, and gazed at Mordecai with a filthy look on his face. "You uncultured _beast,_" he said angrily. "You killed my Ripper, didn't you? That specimen was the finest example of a controllable Feral I have ever had the pleasure to make. Do you know the time and effort you have _wasted?_"

"Be silent!" Ike snapped at the mage, even as Mordecai snarled at him warningly. "I won't have you speaking like that again in our presence."

The Overseer sneered at him. "And do you believe you can order me about?"

"You don't have much of a choice," Ike shot back hotly. "You're outnumbered, injured, and out of options."

"I beg to differ," the mage hissed, and without warning he jumped up, raising one hand high over his head. Ike crouched, prepared for another fire attack, and beside him Soren was already summoning windblades from a less powerful spell than the one previously used.

But the Overseer did not attack; instead he spun around, jamming the key in his raised hand into the lock of the massive iron box behind him. The screeching inside increased, and for one horrible second Ike realized their mistake.

And then the enemy mage screamed as Mordecai's massive paw, equipped with long, hooked claws, smashed him away from the cage before he could turn the key. "I will not kill another brother!" the tiger roared, his thick voice a mix of anguish and rage, as he leapt forward to engage the man where he fell.

But the Overseer was already dead, his torso ripped open, his back broken.

Ike grimaced slightly at the sight, but did not feel much pity for the man's death. It was unfortunate that they would not be able to question him, but he had deserved such an end for his shameless cruelty.

"Split up," Ike ordered sharply, cutting through the stunned silence. "It looks like we found our targets—I'm guessing all of _this _is the cargo the Apostle requested." He gestured to the iron boxes, still quivering with muffled screaming. "See if you can find Lethe specifically." Mordecai, Rhys and Soren nodded in agreement and spread out, beginning the search throughout the dark room. After sheathing his sword, relieving the thick ring of keys from where they hung in the iron box, and grabbing a torch from a nearby wall sconce, Ike joined them.

The further in he went, the more disgusted the mercenary leader became. He had taken a route to his left, and the odors of decay, blood and waste became overpowering for even his beorc senses. He swept his red cloak over his nose and mouth when his eyes began to water from the offending stench and pressed further.

He almost wished he hadn't. Upon reaching the far wall, Ike found the remains of several shredded, self-mutilated, and tortured beings stuffed in far-too-small cages. None were alive, and all looked positively horrific. Fighting the urge to vomit, the commander turned away from the gruesome sight—there was nothing he could do for them anyway—and held his torch high, looking for anything else that could be noteworthy.

He saw Rhys nearby, recoiling from the same collection of cages on the far side of the leftmost wall by the glow of his staff. The poor priest looked, if possible, even more sickly than usual, but Ike could not blame him—if the tortured beorc he had seen were even remotely close to the ones he himself had spotted, it was enough to cause a person to be ill. Soren was walking along the perpendicular wall to their own, a small collection of embers in hand as his eyes roved the shelves of parchments and chemicals with a mix of scholarly fascination and complete disgust. Mordecai was not visible, but he could hear the tiger growling on the far side of the room, and could only assume he had made his own gruesome discoveries.

Ike sighed and pressed his cloak more firmly over his nose and mouth, walking along the cages to search for any sign of Lethe. What had that crazy mage been _doing _here?

"Ah!" Rhys called suddenly, and Ike saw the glow of staff-light raise higher and begin to bob away from him. "Ike, I-- I think I found her!"

The mercenary's head snapped up, and he jogged forward immediately to meet with the priest. Rhys had moved closer to the place in question, and Ike could now see the vague, shadowy outlines of a large steel cage, with something huddled inside it. It was about the size of a cat...could they really have found her?

And then they were alongside the cage, and Ike's heart leapt in relief as he stared through the bars in a mix of staff- and torch-light. It _was _Lethe, albeit in her cat form at the moment, and she certainly looked worse for the wear; her fur was matted and unwashed and she was sporting several burns and cuts. But she was alive—she was breathing, and her violet eyes boring straight into his—and that was all that mattered for now.

"Lethe!" he called to her immediately. "Are you alright? They didn't hurt you too badly, did they?" It was probably a foolish question, he admitted to himself, but he needed verification that Lethe was still well enough to function properly. He would be livid if that laguz-hating mage had tortured her beyond healing...

Lethe stood up and began to pace the full length of the cage immediately, tail lashing, and hissed at him menacingly. This answered one of Ike's questions: all her limbs seemed to be in working order, and beyond the minor burns and cuts she did not appear to be too bad off. But it raised the beginnings of another worried suspicion in his mind.

Frowning, the commander raised his torch higher and gazed into the cage. Perhaps she didn't recognize him in the dark. "Lethe, it's me, Ike. We've come to stop these bandits and get you out--"

He was not given the opportunity to finish. As soon as the torch came close to the bars, the cat gave a screeching hiss and backpedaled to the far corner of the cage, yowling angrily. She crouched among a nest of chains and manacles, tail lashing. Ike realized vaguely that she had probably been connected to them until recently, judging by the raw and bloody ankles and paws she sported, but he was more concerned with her reaction.

"It's just a torch," the mercenary leader said incredulously, even as he began to flick through the thick ring of keys to search for the one corresponding to Lethe's cage. "You've never had a problem with them before." Lethe responded with another vicious hiss and bared her teeth threateningly.

Rhys looked a little nervous, but offered quietly, "perhaps the light hurts her eyes? Cat eyes are sensitive to light changes, so I'm told, and she's been in the dark for a while..."

"That must be it," Ike agreed, though a shiver of unease was running up his spine. His gut instincts were warning him that something wasn't right, that he should pause and reconsider the situation, but he was too preoccupied with getting Lethe out of her cage to care.

Mordecai had reached them now, tail lashing angrily as he spotted his superior's treatment. "Lethe!" he growled to her loudly in the common tongue. "It is alright. We are here to take you out."

Another incomprehensible hiss was the only response. The orange hairs on the cat's back were beginning to raise now. Disturbed, the blue tiger tried another series of low growls and swaying motions, again with little result.

"Something is wrong," the massive laguz said slowly to Ike, as the commander tried yet another key without success.

"Everything is wrong here," Ike grunted back in frustration, trying to force another almost-but-not-quite fitting key and failing miserably. He dropped the useless thing and moved on to the next key with a grumble as Soren finally joined them as well, looking curious and concerned.

"Lethe will not talk to me," Mordecai said, pacing in concern. "I do not understand why." The cat in question was beginning to pace angrily again in her small corner, teeth and claws bared.

Ike frowned. "Won't talk to you?" he asked, even as he slipped the next key into the lock. "But that couldn't mean anything...could it?"

"If she does not understand," Soren said flatly, dragging to light the suspicions and fears of all of them, "then it means everything." Mordecai's ears flattened, displaying all too plainly his similar thoughts.

The commander looked incredulous. "But they couldn't possibly have--"

_Click. _

Blinking, Ike withdrew the latest key from the steel cage's lock and stared at the unlatched, now-slightly-ajar door. All four of them tensed as the cat inside flinched, but after a moment's pause Lethe only flattened herself to her belly with another low hiss and did not move.

Unable to conceal a relieved sigh, Ike handed his torch to Rhys and stepped forward, cracking the heavy steel door open slightly. "I guess she's not like the others yet," the mercenary said slowly, though voicing the _yet _caused his stomach to twist into knots. "I think--"

Whatever he thought was unsaid. No longer carrying the fearful, repellent flames in one hand, the mercenary made a much better target, and the cat's aggressiveness suddenly exploded in a burst of hissing rage. Streaking forward, Lethe loosed a ferocious, rabid scream and launched herself at Ike's unprotected throat, fangs and claws gleaming.

* * *

It wasn't going well.

Titania brought her axe whirling around tiredly, and the weapon smashed halfheartedly through her latest assailant's headgear, splitting his skull. The man staggered and fell, only to let another bandit take his place.

The paladin did not know how much longer she could hold up. Her great strength was beginning to give out, and even the adrenaline reserves that had been fueling her were wearing. And she knew she wasn't the only one, either; her fellow mounted soldiers, out in the thick of the battle, were sporting numerous injuries and exhausted attacks. All of them were visibly drenched in blood—most likely their own—even Kieran, whose red armor made it all but impossible to spot his spilled life fluids. She couldn't even see the defensive ring anymore through the throng of attacking bandits, but had a gut-wrenching feeling that they were faring little better.

Her horse reared and kicked out savagely at another approaching cutthroat, and Titania held on tightly, using the momentary break to drag free a small vial of potion. She drank it hastily and felt her body revitalize somewhat. The liquid had been a healing one, blessed by Rhys in the name of the goddess, and with luck the elixir would keep her going a while yet. Swinging her axe, the deputy-commander gave another war cry and charged into the fray once more, back towards her grounded comrades.

There was some good news in the battle, Titania reflected hastily as she cleaved a swordsman's head from his shoulders before he could retaliate. The bandit leader had not appeared on the field yet, a fact that was noticeably making their enemies nervous; yells and cries from their opponents, questioning where 'Korren' was, indicated as much. That uncertainty from the bandits was probably all that had kept them alive still, the deputy-commander knew.

Not that it did them a terrible amount of good in the end. Even without their leader, the bandits knew they outnumbered their opponents, and pressed forward to continue the attack as the Greil Mercenaries weakened. Even worse, a burly axeman seemed to be taking charge of the bandit attack, coordinating their movements more effectively.

Titania could see him over the heads of the other bandits surrounding him, and steeled her face in determination. That man was dangerous. Lacking the arrival of their true leader, that man was providing a rallying point that could sway the battle against her own forces. But if he died...if he died, the already uncertain bandits might panic and begin to retreat.

"To me!" she roared over the crowd, calling to her fellow horsemen. Only Oscar seemed to hear her, but the cavalier struggled wearily through the ocean of attacking bandits in her direction. He looked terrible; she thought she could see him bleeding badly from his side, and he was stabbing exhaustedly at his enemies with a splintering, broken lance shaft to the best of his ability.

She fought her way back to him, providing support on his wounded side, and unstrapped the lance at her saddle unceremoniously, shoving it into his hands. "Him!" she roared into his ear, the only way to be heard above the clamor, and pointed at their new target. "Hurry!"

He nodded affirmation, and the two of them plowed forward, providing cover for each other as best as able. It seemed to take forever, and even with dual efforts the injuries they took were worrisome.

But then they were _there, _and Titania could see the quasi-leader before her. With a yell she brought her axe swinging down triumphantly. If she could just kill him here, in one quick stroke--

No such luck. The man spotted her and dodged aside. With a leer he leapt forward, slicing out with his own ax, and it was all her horse could manage to skitter aside before its head was severed cleanly from its neck.

Titania yelled again in outrage and pressed her attack, slicing downward again with her red-dripping weapon, and the man parried her attack cleanly, ax to ax. She called for Oscar's aid, but the cavalier was holding several other bandits off from her fight and could not respond. Indeed, it was all he could do to not be killed.

Something leapt at her from the side, and Titania swung her ax around in a wide arc, burying its wicked blade deep into an enemy swordsman's skull. Too close—the sword had been a fraction from her ribcage before clanking loosely, harmlessly off her armor instead.

But even as she began to pull her weapon free, she realized her mistake. They had flanked her, and in her moment of distraction the temporary leader had given a triumphant yell and shot forward, swinging his weapon around for a fatal blow. No good, she knew—she couldn't bring her weapon to bear in time. Vaguely, the deputy-commander wondered what it would be like to die...

The attacking bandit stopped short with a howl of surprise as a dark gray blur darted lightly forward to meet him. When the shadow pulled away neatly Titania could see blood dripping form a knife-wound in the man's weapon-bearing shoulder. She did not pause to question the circumstances—with a final yell, she swung her ax around in a mighty arc and brought it crashing down on the temporary leader. The man's head split cleanly in two down to his jaw, spilling brains and blood, and the body twisted and sank to the ground without so much as another noise.

The gray blur ducked neatly behind the shelter of her horse before nearby bandits could spot it and gave her a wry smirk. She recognized the man instantly—even when Ike had hired the thief, Titania had never quite come to trust Volke. There was something unsavory about his persona, and she had a feeling he dabbled in darker things than she would like to think of.

Still, he _had _just unquestionably saved her life, so she could afford to give him some slack—if only a little. "I did not expect to see you here," she called loudly, even as her ax swung around to claim another life.

"I didn't expect to be here," Volke answered lazily. His short, serviceable knife was held almost casually in one hand, though he appeared to be avoiding detection by hiding in her own horse's shadow. "But you know...triple my usual fee; I just can't pass that up."

Titania gave him a disdainful look, even as she wheeled her mount around to try and force her way back to her defending comrades. "You certainly took your time arriving, then!"

Oscar spun to follow her on his own mount, though he was beginning to droop badly in his saddle. Volke gave him a casual glance, tsked, and tossed a small vial in his direction. "You can't expect me to kill myself in the middle of a battle in melee combat, especially if we're outnumbered like _this. _I've been contributing in...other ways." He smirked lightly, and Titania had a sudden feeling that the medicinal potion Oscar was now drinking from that vial had not originally belonged to the mercenaries.

"I've already passed out my wares to your defensive group," Volke added lazily. "Then I spotted that leading brute out here and figured that was a way to cinch the battle...especially with you going after him."

Titania pulled back from her latest victory and gave him a distrustful look. "You just said you were not interested in melee battle."

"I'm not." He shrugged slightly. "But the specifics of the verbal contract with your commander were to 'help finish the diversionary battle as quick as possible,' and I always make sure I give you your money's worth. I slipped through the crowd and made him my _specific _target."

Titania did not trust the man fully, but had little room for argument. Her assumption, as well as his own, had been correct; with the quasi-leader dead, the remaining bandits were beginning to panic, and their offensive wave was starting to pull back. Newly invigorated, Titania roared above the crowd, rallying her forces once more, and charged forward to drive her enemies even further from her comrades.

Perhaps they would survive this battle yet.

* * *

AND yet another chapter done. This story is officially my longest one yet, I think, and we've still got a ways to go.

For the record, I _loooove _Sothe. Never played _Radiant Dawn _but he's still made of pure awesome in _Path of Radiance. _And with the number of critical hits he gets (for me anyway), he practically Silences as well as any assassin. Too bad you can't class him up in the game...so disappointing. Or that he's an antisocial little bastard and only gets two supports...I think he'd have some interesting conversations with a few of the younger members of the Greil Army. Ah well. He'll just be my _little Jaffar Jr. _then (and slightly more talkative).

If you leave a review, please give it some MEAT. I wanna know what was done well, what wasn't, what could have been done better, what you really liked. You guys know the drill by now, I should hope.

--Velkyn Karma


	8. Improbable

**Feral**

Part eight of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Note:** It seems this two-week update thing is becoming a habit. Once again, apologies for the lateness. Things have been busy and very difficult here.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

* * *

"We the unwilling, led by the unknowing have been doing the difficult with so little for so long that we are now ready to tackle the impossible with nothing."

Local Fire Communications Reserve Volunteer Motto

* * *

Ike yelled in surprise and stumbled backwards as Lethe's claws slashed at his unprotected neck. Moving on instinct, his right hand slid around the hilt of his sword; he managed to half-draw it in a defensive stance, the blade running parallel to his own body in front of him.

The move worked, if barely. Lethe's reaching claws scrabbled on the flat of the blade and missed his skin by bare inches. The cat screeched in surprise as her delicate paws razored against the edge of Ike's sword, and she fell back, hissing and spitting angrily.

The mercenary leader managed to unsheathe his sword completely in the momentary break, holding it in front of him defensively as he tried to force past his shock. After several seconds his voice returned to him, and he yelled in surprise, "What are you _doing _Lethe?! It's me! Ike! I'm your friend, remember?"

The laguz' only response was to hiss more loudly and fall into a crouch, tail lashing. Before he could argue further, the cat had launched herself once more at his throat, claws outstretched.

Ike was suddenly grateful for his many sparring sessions with Lethe; without them he was sure he would be dead. Even as the cat leapt he was ready, and swung his sword around in an offensive movement instinctively to deflect her attack and retaliate. Even in his haze of battle training he was careful to use the flat of his blade against her, instead of the razored edge. If he was lucky perhaps he could stun her before things became too dangerous.

It worked. The blow cracked Lethe solidly along her side, and the cat crashed to the ground, rolling. In his brief second of respite, Ike glanced up in time to see the fireball growing at Soren's fingertips, and the determined look on his face as he prepared to use it.

"Soren!" he snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. "Put that away—don't attack her! Lethe is an _ally!_"

The mage looked about to protest, but Ike's attention was diverted suddenly as Lethe rolled to her feet and launched, snarling, at the mercenary commander. He raised his sword in a defensive block once more, but even in her crazed state the cat learned fast. She dodged aside nimbly and snapped at his heels, driving the commander backwards. Ike stumbled, unsteady, and his sword flung to the side as a counterbalance; and in that moment, the cat saw her opportunity, and struck.

Ike yelled in surprise as the laguz' hurtling weight knocked him onto his back, and spots danced briefly before his eyes as he found himself winded. And the next thing he knew was _pain, _as the Lethe's teeth and claws began tearing at him savagely. He could feel them ripping at the leather heart-guard strapped to his chest, digging into the flesh of his torso, moving towards his throat--

With supreme effort, the commander managed to drag one of his hands free from underneath the crazed cat's weight, shoving it upwards to protect his vitals. He grimaced as he felt Lethe's teeth glancing off the metal of his wrist-guards, sinking deeply into his arm. With another burst of effort he dragged free more strength against the wild, empowered beast and shoved her off of himself.

The laguz screeched in protest, and skittered around immediately to attack him again, even as Ike tried to drag himself to his feet. If he got up, he could stand a chance against her. If she managed to keep him down, he was as helpless as an infant—she was too strong, and too untamed, to fight back against.

But Lethe had recovered too quickly, and Ike had not. With a victorious scream, the cat leaped at him again, claws outstretched, jaws wide.

Mordecai crashed into her in midair, and his considerable bulk and momentum sent the crazed cat flying several feet. Ike dragged himself to his feet hazily, clutching at his bleeding, bitten arm—the same arm that had been burned not half an hour previously, what luck—even as Mordecai charged forward after his commander.

Lethe hit the ground, rolled, and came fluidly to her feet, issuing a wild keening wail to her latest challenger. Mordecai roared back, and even as the cat advanced he lunged forward, pinning her resolutely to the ground with his massive forepaws.

She struggled, trashing all five limbs wildly, clawing at every inch of Mordecai's paws and forelegs that she could reach. Even so much smaller, her increased strength from her feral nature was obvious, and the much larger tiger looked to be having a difficult time restraining her. He was panting heavily and his blue fur was streaked with sweat and blood. It was uncertain how much longer he could sustain his feline form.

"Rhys!" Ike said loudly, glancing around hastily for the priest. "Cast Sleep on her! Do it now, hurry!" The young man complied immediately, dashing forward as his staff glowed to life, and slowly the writhing feline form slowed and stilled.

Only when she had stopped moving completely did Mordecai remove his massive paw.

Silence dominated suddenly. Even the screechings of the mysterious cargo had fallen silent, allowing only the harsh panting of the four mercenaries to scratch eerily through the air.

But then at last Mordecai broke the silence with a tired sigh, and wearily shifted back into his half-beorc form. His expression was immediately discernible; the sorrowful look on his beorc face was much more understandable than the unreadable face of his tiger form.

"It is very...wrong..." the laguz murmured, before thudding to the ground to sit, tiredly and silently, beside his sleeping commander.

Ike shook his head wearily and clutched at his bitten arm, even as he glanced at Lethe's prone cat form. "What _happened_? It's only been a few days. They can't have...not _that _fast..."

"If she has been forced to regress," Soren said bluntly, "then it is dangerous to allow her to wake. Perhaps--"

"_Soren._" Ike gave his tactician what his other subordinates had come to call _the look; _the stern, commanding not-quite-glare that the young leader always dished out to his friend when he had spoken rudely out of turn. The mage fell silent—not without a sullen expression—and Ike added sharply, "Put those away, too." The magic-user had yet to dispel the embers flickering hungrily at his fingertips. Soren sighed, but complied, swirling his hands once through the air to put out the offending flames.

"Ike!" Rhys called suddenly, breaking the tension. He sounded surprised. "Lethe...!"

The mercenary whipped his head around in confusion, but then his own blue eyes widened in disbelief. Lethe's cat form was slowly melding back to her original half-beorc appearance, though she remained deeply asleep under the affects of Rhys' spell.

Ike frowned. "What...what's going _on _here? I thought those feral laguz couldn't return to their other forms--that other one never did even when it died--"

"They do not." Mordecai's tail was flicking in agitation, and the great laguz was bending over his commander worriedly. Soren considered the scene momentarily, his own brow furrowed lightly in confusion, before turning on his heels and heading back to the shelves of books and potions he had been examining.

Ike glanced in his friend's direction. What was he doing now? Surely he couldn't be _that _put out about retracting his magic? Still frowning, he voiced his confusion. "Soren?"

The mage did not glance back, beginning to shuffle through a stack of parchments, but he did respond. "You should have Rhys heal you before those injuries can become infected."

"Yeah, sure. But what are you doing?"

Soren tossed the first stack aside and pulled a second pile of parchments closer to him. "Looking for notations."

Ike stood still as Rhys approached him for healing, feeling relief as the throbbing in his bitten left arm finally subsided. "Notations?"

"On her experimentations. If we are lucky, this Overseer will have kept extensive notes on each of his actions in regards to _all _his subjects." Soren's explanation was crisp and precise, even as he shuffled through a third stack, scanning the pages' contents quickly.

Ike frowned again and glanced back at the sleeping Lethe as Rhys finished up the last of his injuries. "You think it'll help?"

The mage paused and glanced at a small collection of pages, nodding at the contents slowly before glancing back at his leader. "I am not sure," he admitted after a moment. "However, there is a possibility—a very _improbable _possibility, mind you—that, judging from her transformation in sleep, the ferality process was not...completed."

Mordecai's head jerked up suddenly, his catlike ears pricking hopefully. "Then Lethe can be saved?"

"I will make no promises," Soren answered flatly. "I am only making a hypothesis, and a very unlikely one at that." His face twisted into a disdainful look even as he began to read the sheaf in his hands, and Ike recalled once again how much the tactician hated making any decisions that were not based on logic, reasonable probability, and most of all, _fact. _

"But there _is _a chance," Ike repeated, carefully attempting to draw out a sound conclusion.

There was a pause. Then: "...Yes. There is a chance."

Ike felt his own hopes rising slightly. "Good. Then see if you can figure it out. If anyone can find that chance, it's you." Soren snorted, but said nothing, only continuing to scan the contents of the parchment in his hands quietly.

Silence reigned for another five minutes as the mage went about his unexpected work. Rhys finished healing Mordecai, and then Lethe, recasting a stronger Sleep spell when the laguz began to stir. The tiger never left her side, sitting exhaustedly with his head slumped; only his twitching tail gave evidence that he had not fallen asleep as well. Ike paced restlessly, his mind whirling far too quickly for his own liking, running over their recent discoveries again and again.

This was wrong.

This was horrific.

Why had the Apostle hired him for this? What game was she playing now?

Could they save Lethe? _Would _they even be able to?

The cough broke the newly restored silence sharply like a whip crack, and every single one of the mercenaries jumped. But then Ike looked in Soren's direction, to the location of the sound, and asked the burning question with eyes alone.

Soren looked back at him grimly, his own red eyes glittering darkly in the feeble torchlight. And then he said slowly, deliberately, "Ike...I believe we have a problem."

* * *

Three days later found the entire mercenary camp halfway back to the city of Sienne, setting up tents in the meager evening twilight and running through the nightly list of camp chores. The mercenaries knew their business by now and divvied up the necessary jobs with precision, working quickly to prepare food, check supplies, and assign guards for first watch.

Ike let them go about their business without comment. They knew exactly what needed to be done, and he had no reason to throw his weight around over nothing, so he returned his wandering thoughts.

It had been a hectic past few days. The bandit rout had been difficult, and judging from Titania's report they had nearly suffered massive casualties at the hands of the cutthroats. The enemy forces had been almost overpowering, she had told him calmly—twice the amount they had originally estimated—and things had not looked good for a while.

Yet amazingly they had pulled through, thanks to the combined efforts of the mercenary team. After Titania and Volke had dispatched the bandits' temporary leader, the enemy had scattered in a panic. The much-needed break had given the Greil Mercenaries a chance to recover before systematic search-and-destroy missions were begun, flushing out the last remaining bandits and eliminating them. The rout had been successfully completed, and though there were a few heavy injuries—Oscar was bedridden for a week from a nasty wound in his side, and Mia was healing very slowly from a particularly bad sword-thrust into her right leg—there were no casualties whatsoever.

Apprehending the cargo had taken far longer. They had scoured the entire bandit fortress, looting it of all money or weaponry that could be considered valuable. But the real "prize" was clearly the Overseer's experimentation room and its massive collection of iron cages, all of which contained living—or once-living—cargo.

It had been far too late to begin removing the iron boxes by the time the battles were completed. Night had already fallen, and transportation in the dark would be too dangerous. They had camped at the fortress that night (outside its walls; nobody wanted to spend the night in that foul place) and the next morning had begun to extract the boxes from their depths in the massive building.

It had been difficult work, taking nearly the entire day. The boxes were massive and hard to move, and it had been only with the use of a pulley system, the mercenaries' horse mounts, and Mordecai's massive strength that they were budged from the lab at all. They were stored outside for another night as the mercenaries camped once more outside the fortress, serenaded by eerie growls and screams from inside the iron prisons.

Cleaning out the rest of the lab proved just as difficult. The dead beorc in the smaller cages on the far wall of the lab clearly could not be delivered to the Apostle, and Ike was loathe to leave them in their tiny prisons, alone and ignored. Soren had flatly suggested cremating them and scattering the ashes, which the commander had found odd. His tactician could admittedly be blunt, but he would not have imagined the mage displaying such scathing disrespect for the dead. Ike had refused the suggestion and ordered them removed from the cages and buried. Soren would have nothing to do with them after that, and pointedly ignored each tortured corpse as it passed.

For his part, the mage had aided with the cleanup in his own way. While the rest of the mercenaries dealt with the cargo and the dead, the tactician carefully categorized the Overseer's notes, books, and poisons, packing them away delicately in boxes for study later. If any reversal could be found for this ferality curse, it would have to be decoded from the crazy mage's own notations.

At last, a full two nights after they had successfully routed the fortress, the Greil Mercenaries were ready to take leave of the hateful place. They left on the second dawn, trudging slowly back towards the city they had departed mere days ago. The travel was slow—the cargo they transported was heavy, requiring the use of large, hastily constructed carts and the strength of the cavalier horses to pull them—and two days later they had only reached the midway point between the fortress and the Begnion city.

Ike frowned lightly as he slipped around the newly constructed tents, a particular destination in mind. He glanced wearily at the far side of camp, where the massive iron boxes stood like obelisks against the orange-and-pink sunset sky, towering ominously as far away from the mercenaries as they could afford. His eyes roved absently over the scattered corpses of deer and rabbits around the iron cages. That had been his suggestion, to feed the poor beasts if he could, but the attempt had been far too dangerous in the end. For the Laguz' own sakes rather than those of his mercenaries.

But his eyes were not drawn to the dominating, opaque black boxes in the end. They slid slowly, almost hesitatingly, to the smaller barred cage among them, slightly to one side—and to the hunched figure visible inside through the bars, glaring back hatefully in his direction.

He _hated _keeping her caged. Keeping Lethe under lock and key like this—just like that Overseer, he thought bitterly—had been against his every moral grain, and he felt flooded with disrespect and guilt on an almost regular basis because of it. But Soren had insisted it was necessary, and even Mordecai had agreed with the mage, his voice sorrowful. They might be able to help Lethe; but until they could, it was an undeniable fact that she was a dangerous threat, both to the mercenaries and to herself. Keeping her restricted was the only way to protect everyone until some sort of cure could be found.

Ike had tried to treat her civilly even so, talking to her apologetically through the bars of her cage. _Tried _being the key word. Every single one of the mercenaries had learned very quickly to give the maddened laguz a fifteen-foot radius around her prison. Whenever anyone—especially a beorc—approached her, the cat would begin to wail mercilessly and hurl herself at the cage walls, battering herself dangerously as she tried to get at the human that _dared _approach her, until Rhys or Mist could be called over to cast Sleep on the poor beast. Even when not inside that radius, Lethe would pace back and forth in her cage, watching any nearby beorc with an almost hungry look as her tail lashed dangerously.

They kept her asleep as often as they could to protect her, healing her self-afflicted wounds whenever the spell finally overtook her raving mind. As before, while Lethe remained fully a cat when conscious, she slipped back into her half-beorc form when sleeping—further proof that she could hopefully be saved. At the same time, it stirred Ike's guilt all the more to see the half-beorc form behind bars that he himself had ordered to encase her.

Shaking his head firmly, the commander looked away from the baleful violet eyes glaring in his direction and finally slipped into the tent he had been looking for, dropping the cloth flap behind him with a dull _swoosh_. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the sudden onset of candlelight—it was getting dark very fast outside now—and then scanned the room, looking for a particular figure.

Just as expected, Soren was seated at the collapsible table in his tent, pouring over one of the thick tomes of notations that they had pilfered from the Overseer's lab. He did not look up as Ike entered, merely turning a page carefully in the book and scribbling down a notation of his own on a half-full piece of parchment before him. That parchment was flopped haphazardly over dozens of other stacks of pages and books, and a few vials sat precariously on the edge of the table, waiting to be studied.

The mercenary leader was positively amazed at how fast Soren had managed to unpack these notes. They had only set up his tent an hour ago, and already the place looked like an explosion. He reached out to move the badly-placed vials to a more secure location on top of a stack of books, knocking a sheaf of pages to the ground as he did so. Bending, he picked them up and scanned the contents absently, able to decipher almost nothing except the title at the the very top.

"_Feral Branded project #216, Experimentations with Serum 32: Observations and Results,_" Ike read off slowly, squinting at the spidery writing. "What a mouthful. What does it even mean?"

Soren had flinched slightly at the title, but recovered himself before Ike really noticed. "It is simply a list of experimentations on a select group of people. He has thousands of notations and packets of that nature."

Ike frowned. "Thousands...that's disgusting." He shook his head, dropping the packet back onto the table as though it were poisoned. "That he could treat laguz or beorc or...whatever was in that, branded?...like they're just test subjects."

Soren gave him a rather careful look, and nodded slowly in agreement. "Yes," he answered rather evasively. "It is a bit...disturbing to read through." And he returned to his book, a troubled look on his face.

Ike gave him a concerned look. "Are you okay with this? I know it's probably not easy."

_Probably _was definitely an understatement, the mercenary leader knew. Soren was a skilled and efficient staff officer, and undoubtedly quite brilliant when it came to magic. But there was a lot of material to study, and not much time to do it. From the dark lines under the mage's eyes, Ike could easily guess that the tactician was using every spare moment he could grab hold of to run through the Overseer's extensive amount of research—including several hours of much-needed resting time.

But arguing with him over the matter would be pointless. Ike had learned long ago that Soren could and would become surprisingly stubborn over certain matters, and at that point it was best to let him be.

It was ironic, really, because the mage had still been opposed to helping the laguz—he had never truly gotten along with Lethe or Mordecai after their initial meeting. He had said as much when asked for his opinion, blunt and to the point as always: that he saw no reason to grasp at straws for an entirely improbable possibility.

But Ike had asked him to find a solution, if he could. And despite Soren's opposition, the mage's loyalty was still stronger. At his leader's request he had collected every scrap of information from the Overseer's lab, down to the tiniest notations on discarded corners of parchment, and had begun to read through it all with systematic perseverance and cold, hard logic. Regardless of his disagreements, he was putting every drop of effort he possessed into fulfilling his assigned goal—and if anyone could succeed at such a daunting task, it would be Soren.

"I'm fine," the mage responded flatly, turning another page in the tome. "While admittedly disturbing, there are quite a few unusual discoveries and notations here. This Overseer may have been insane...but he was also unquestionably brilliant."

Ike frowned at that, but let it pass. "Find anything you can use?"

Soren shook his head tiredly. "Not yet. There are many descriptions of his processes, but I cannot see any way to reverse them without inadvertently killing the subject."

"They're not 'subjects,' Soren," Ike chided with a sigh. "They're living, breathing people."

"You have asked me to decode these notations and understand the processes. To do so, I must think like the man I am attempting to understand as well."

"Don't do that," Ike said sharply. "Think of them as people, Soren. They still are. What would you think if that happened to you?"

The mage paled considerably, and his eyes seemed to flicker over the parchments spread on the table towards Ike's hands. But after a moment he composed himself, and answered simply, "It would not be...pleasant." He paused. "But not completely different," he added as an afterthought, almost under his breath.

Ike was about to question him, but Soren flipped to the next page of his tome with a resolute determination, and the commander realized he wouldn't be getting any answers about _that _comment tonight. Instead he sighed and leaned over the table, picking up another sheaf of parchments absently. This one read _Common Responses to Serum 23, Based on Observational Data of Race and Breeding. _"Soren...what's _your _opinion on all of this?"

The mage looked up curiously. "Hmm?"

The mercenary leader tossed the sheaf back down on the table. "You've been reading about this for two days now. You must have at least _some _understanding of what's going on. Re-evaluate your opinion...what do you think our chances are?"

Soren paused, considering, fingering the page of his current tome absently as he calculated. After almost a minute of silence, he spoke up, his tone careful. "Not very high."

"Huh?"

The mage sighed tiredly; Ike became even more aware of the deep bags beneath his eyes. "After reading many of these manuscripts, I still come to my former conclusion: a chance to reverse the process is _possible, _but not very _probable._" He gave Ike a flat look. "I would not get your hopes up. I personally still believe it would be more...humane...to end it quickly and cleanly."

Ike shook his head, frowning deeply. "I can't do that. I'm not going to let anybody die if there's a chance to save them."

"That sounds like you," Soren said wryly. "But keep in mind: the feral body is dangerous to itself. You have seen how she acts when we get close. They are thusly always in a state of physical pain. Mental agony is probably far worse, judging from what I have read of this man's notes. There is nothing _left. _It is complete and utter destruction, no sentience, no communication. Do you truly think it is logical to leave her alive in such a state? Or _anyone _in that state, for that matter?"

"Keep trying, Soren," Ike encouraged firmly. "I'm not letting anyone under my command stay like that. I wouldn't give up if it was you, and I'm not giving up on anyone else. Maybe I can't imagine what it's like to be that way—locked away, alone, unable to think or reason or even communicate with people. But I can guess that it's painful, and I know it's wrong...and I refuse to leave anyone behind like that if I can help it."

The mage gave him a long, hard, studious gaze, and then sighed, shaking his head tiredly. "You have no idea," he answered simply, and returned to his notetaking with studious determination. He did not speak for the rest of the night.

* * *

And there's chapter...eight, as it? Wow. That's the most chapters I've ever had so far.

Sadly, while I realize my update schedule has gotten wonky, it's probably going to stay that way. Exams and finals are coming up here, and I need to prepare for those. So the next update probably won't be for at least two weeks...possibly more. The good news is, the next update is also the last. That's right folks—only one chapter left.

In the meantime, if you leave a review, give it some substance! What was done well? What was done poorly? What'd you like? What _didn't _you like? All this stuff helps me, you know. So help out!

--Velkyn Karma


	9. Confusion and Compassion

**Feral**

Part nine of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Note: **And exams are done! Congratulate me, for in my genius I have acquired all "A's." As a reward for my awesomeness, you receive another (almost final) installment.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

* * *

"Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity."  
--Hippocrates

* * *

Nearly four days later, Ike was shocked to find Soren hurrying past him, a look of cold determination on his face.

The look itself wasn't really surprising. Ike had seen that same expression on Soren's face before most of their battles, or when he was adamant about a theory or conclusion of his and refused to let it go. No, that wasn't surprising at all; it was the fact that Soren was seen willingly outside of his room, breaking his sudden habitual reclusive habits for something seemingly very important. And Ike wanted to know what it was.

They had returned to the Begnion capital two days ago, late in the evening. Their arrival had been hectic at best. Ike and his men had been exhausted after their travels, and dealing with the Apostle's followers to hand over their heavy cargo had been aggravating and time-consuming. But once the massive iron boxes had been safely handed over to Sigrun and her warriors, Ike had dismissed his weary mercenaries, attending the following debriefing with Titania alone. Soren had been suspiciously absent, vanishing with the rest of the mercenary band, and had barely been seen around the castle since.

Ike could find him if he wanted too, of course, and had known exactly where the mage would be. He checked the staff-officer's room once the debriefing was over; and sure enough, Soren had been there, huddled over another stack of transcripts that he had somehow managed to hide from the Apostle's aides.

Most of the books and writings that Soren had looked through had been handed over to Sigrun already. But somehow he had managed to cleverly conceal the remaining information within his own personal belongings, and had already returned to studying them. And he studied constantly, night and day, pausing only to answer questions when asked or to eat when his commander finally threatened to forcefully shove food down his throat if he did not. He did not leave his room without being ordered to, and Ike suspected he did not sleep much either, not that he could do much about that.

But now he had left his self-imposed confinement, and Ike was sure that meant something important. He turned and hurried after the mage to catch up. "Soren! What's the matter?"

Soren glanced over his shoulder in response, spotted Ike, and came to a halt. He seemed to consider his words carefully before replying, "I believe I may have found your cure, but I must check with Rhys first before I can conclusively state such a thing."

Ike felt his heart leap, and some of the tension he had been struggling under for days seemed to lift away from him slightly. "You really think you can heal Lethe? Are you positive?"

"No," Soren answered bluntly, knocking his commander's elation down a few notches. "It is only a _possibility,_ and relies largely on my inadequate knowledge of healing magics. I have been studying healing for some time; it would be a useful ability on the battlefield. But I am not as knowledgeable on the subject as our main healers, and my theory may be inaccurate."

Ike frowned. "What's your theory?"

The mage raised an eyebrow slightly at his commander's interest. Ike understood little of magic after all, and explaining a complex theory that stemmed from days of research was no easy task. But Ike appeared to want to at least _try _to understand what was going on, and Soren supposed he could make an attempt to explain.

Pausing to gather his thoughts, Soren resumed his determined walk before beginning to speak. "After studying the Overseer's notes and papers these past few days, I've come to determine the components of many of his potions and elixirs. Many of these, in turn, act very similar to venom in terms of how they attack the subj—victim."

Ike noted the stumble of Soren's words at the end of his explanation, but let it pass. Instead he asked in confusion, "If it's like a poison, why can't Rhys just heal it? He's always been good with that sort of thing whenever the enemies use coated weapons."

Soren shook his head. "Note my use of the word _similar. _The simple poisons that many of our enemies use are not the same; there is a very large difference. Battle venom attacks the body directly, breaking down bodily functions such as control of one's body, or blood flow. Or they simply make the victim ill, or cause a great deal of pain."

The mercenary leader grimaced in all-too-well understanding and nodded. He had been the unfortunate recipient of a poisoned attack once, and even a small nick had caused his body to feel as though it was burning for the thirty minutes following before Rhys could be located. "But these potions of the Overseer's don't work like that?"

The mage shook his head as he turned a corner, heading in the direction of the courtyard. "On the contrary, they do not immediately attack the body at all. Their primary target is the mind; any physical damage a sub—victim--takes is likely a side-effect and not even intended. And since it is not an immediate physical ailment, normal healing procedures—such as the prayers and magic Rhys uses—will not suffice."

"I get it," Ike said with a nod, though his new comprehension brought him no joy. "But still...even if it doesn't cause physical damage, it's still a foreign..._thing..._inside their blood and body. There has to be _some _way to remove it."

"If it were as simple as that," Soren answered flatly, "then the matter would not even be worth discussing. I would be able to remove it myself, even with my own limited knowledge of healing magic."

The commander's frown deepened; he did not like where this was heading. "Then what's the problem?"

His advisor paused and turned to give him a completely emotionless, cold look. Even his red eyes seemed icy, as though blood had frozen into opaque discs, revealing nothing. His voice, too, remained flat and emotionless, but his words revealed everything.

"The problem," he said simply, "is that the potion is adaptive...or rather, the subject is."

Ike did not bother to berate the mage for his choice of words. Instead he rushed to question him further, feeling a cold dread beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean?"

"The Overseer was, as I said before, absolutely brilliant," Soren answered, beginning to walk once again. "He anticipated any living thing's natural ability to fight back against unwanted substances within the body. When a person is poisoned, every aspect of them resists the effects of the poison for as long as it is able. The same would be true of any elixir or mixture he would think to force into his subject's blood. And so he devised an alternative plan: create a potion that the bodies of his subjects would adjust to, even grow to covet over time."

Ike frowned. "So they...absorb it? They don't fight back?"

"In essence, yes," the staff-officer answered with a sharp nod. "The subject may resist at first, but the potions that induce ferality within the sub—laguz--loan the body strength, energy and power in fantastic amounts, once certain targeted barriers in the mind are passed. The bodies become reliant on the elixirs, craving them even, to a point when it is impossible to remove the potions without killing them. And when too much of it has built up in the subject's body..."

"Then they can't change back," the mercenary breathed softly, feeling ill. "They stay in their beast forms."

Again, Soren nodded. "The elixirs target most of the more...sophisticated...aspects of su—laguz mentality. It reduces their minds to little more than primitive husks based on primal urges, but the trade-off provides them with great power and energy. For a limited amount of time." He paused absently. "Not that they would care," he added as an afterthought. "They are too far gone to notice the difference in their own addiction."

Ike had never been so sickened by anything he had heard in his entire life. His father had told him stories of great mercenaries once, who had adapted themselves to enemy poisons by slowly becoming adjusted to it until they were immune. But he had never heard of anybody using such concepts to completely dominate another being. It was so..._wrong. _

But there was still a small spark of hope, and the commander seized hold of it once more. "But you said you might have a way to heal Lethe."

"_Maybe,_" Soren answered doubtfully. "As I told you, it is only a theory. I would not advise you to get your hopes up over nothing."

"Still...even a theory is better than nothing. What's your idea?"

The mage paused again as he considered how to describe the technical explanation to somebody less than familiar with the magical arts. After a moment he spoke. "A singular approach is exactly the wrong approach to take," he said slowly. "Using healing magic alone could work, in theory, if the healer is strong enough and capable enough—to a degree. The body could be purged of the Overseer's potions, but the subject itself would likely die from the exertion necessary to perform such a task."

Ike frowned. "Then Rhys can't do anything at all? What about Mist? Or maybe the Apostle's clerics--"

"I would not be so quick to put yourself in Begnion debt," Soren said sharply, giving his commander a concerned but warning look. "I haven't finished explaining yet. As I said, using healing magic to heal in one sharp burst would kill the subject. That much is clear. However, attempting to use healing magic slowly, in careful steps, would not be effective enough—the strength of the addiction is too much for more careful healing to regularly combat. But as I said, a singular approach is _probably _not the way."

"Then what is?" the mercenary commander asked, growing curious. For all his callous actions and tone of voice, he could tell that Soren was on to something, leading him almost patiently towards a solution.

"I have already told you," the mage answered simply, "I am not entirely sure that this approach would work yet. However...there is more than one way to cure a poison. After studying the components of the Overseer's elixirs and mixtures, I believe I could construct counter-elixirs...antidotes, if you will...that could lessen the subject's reliance on the potions in its body. Such antidotes would break down the hold that the poisons have, and then the healing magic that Rhys possesses would be able to purge those broken venoms completely." He gave Ike a critical look. "The process will inevitably take weeks, and would only really be possible for somebody who has not been completely subdued by the Ferality process...but it _may _work."

Ike blinked in surprise and stared at his staff-officer for a few silent moments, but then broke into a grin. "I _told _you before you were a miracle worker," he said, giving Soren a friendly—but strong—pat on the back that sent the decidedly smaller mage stumbling forward several paces. "If anyone could figure out the answer, it was you. I knew you could do it."

Soren recovered his feet, dusted off his black cloak, and protested sharply, "I do not know if this solution is even possible, let alone probable!"

"I know," Ike said, still grinning. "You needed to talk to Rhys, right?" He pointed ahead across the courtyard they had just arrived in, indicating the white-robed form wandering peacefully through the flower-gardens. "There he is. I'm sure with our top healer and excellent mage working together, we'll have a workable solution in a matter of hours."

Soren 'hmphed,' but headed off to speak with the young priest about his theory. Behind him, Ike couldn't seem to erase his grin. He knew his friend didn't really believe this situation was fixable, but the mage also didn't really believe in instinct either...something Ike fully took stock in. And Ike's instincts had settled, the tension eased, as soon as Soren had announced even a plausible solution to the problem.

Suddenly, the commander was firmly aware that everything was going to be okay in time.

* * *

The following day, the first stage of treatment began.

Soren had proven himself spectacularly, finding a plausible theory within his first try. After discussing healing to a greater extent with Rhys, the mage had adjusted his plan slightly, adapting it to Rhys' own healing abilities in an attempt to make the treatments as smooth as possible. The antidotes he had spent the night concocting—made of ingredients that Ike had paid a king's ransom in gold to obtain quickly, but felt was worth every copper of it—were now imbued with special blessings from Rhys. These ensured that the priest's magic would work in cooperation with the elixirs and not threaten the life of their patient.

With the antidotes ready, the problem became getting them into their patient somehow. Ike had insisted that they use as little brute force as possible, not wanting to hurt their ally-turned-feral any more than necessary. Soren had found the order aggravating to say the least, but obeyed fully, lacing scraps of the cat's dinner with the potions instead. When the laguz became more docile a mere hour later, the staff-officer knew the first stage of his plan had worked.

Then came Rhys' part in the procedure. Moving as close as possible without driving Lethe into her insane frenzy, the young priest focused deep within himself, calling forth his healing energies through prayer and concentrating them firmly through his crystalline staff. The focus stave amplified his energies immediately, bathing the cat in a calming blue light, and he connected with the traces of blessing he could sense inside the laguz' bloodstream. Working carefully, he applied just enough energy to negate his own spells. Slowly but surely, the small amount of blessed antidote—and the cruel venom it had attacked and broken down—were erased under his soothing healing, evaporated into nothingness.

The effort was exhausting to the sickly priest, and as Rhys finally withdrew away from his meditative healing state he found a wave of fatigue rolling over his frail body. Groaning, he collapsed to the ground, eyelids fluttering. Several other members of the mercenary band, come to watch the procedure, ran forward to collect him.

Lethe, too, seemed exhausted by the ordeal. Soren's antidotes, at work in her body, had left her weak and confused, unable to quite muster her rage and frustration. When the healing began, her hissing, raised hair, and flattened ears had indicated some sort of pain or confusion. And when the mercenaries ran forward for her priest she threw herself violently at the bars of her cage, once, twice, three times. But then exhaustion overwhelmed her as well, and she collapsed unconscious to the cage bed, flopping on the soft—but shredded—blankets that had been provided for her. Within moments she had melted back to her half-beorc form.

Ike, watching the entire treatment, frowned at the collapse of two of his soldiers and gave Soren, by his side, a confused look. "What happened?"

Soren shrugged tiredly. The dark lines under his eyes and deepened considerably, and privately Ike wondered just how much longer the mage could even keep on his feet. "Rhys overexerted himself. I suspected as much would happen. He is a powerful healer, but this process requires a good deal of energy."

"Will he be okay?"

"With rest," Soren answered flatly, "I am sure that he will recover. As usual."

"What about Lethe?" Ike pressed, determined to look out for each member of his band.

"Again, the process takes its toll on all participants. She is merely exhausted by the treatment. But from what I have witnessed today...I believe it was working."

The mercenary commander looked relieved, but fixed Soren with a sharp look. "Alright then. What about _you?_"

Soren raised an eyebrow. "I'm fine, of course."

"Soren, you look like you're about to collapse, too."

The mage shrugged. "Creating the antidotes was...not an easy process. The original elixirs were imbued with several spells of the Overseer's own creation. I have had to deconstruct and reconstruct his process, not to mention perform it myself. It was...tiring."

"Then get some rest."

"I will be fine."

Ike narrowed his eyes, once again applying _the look. _"Soren. Rest. Now. That's an order."

The tactician looked sulky, but nodded his head, deferring once again to his commander. "Very well, but I can only afford to for a few hours. I will need to create another stock of antidotes soon, and the process takes time."

"I don't care," Ike said firmly. "Rhys is going to need at least a full day to recover his strength for another treatment, which means you can spare some time to get some rest too. You've done a lot already, so don't kill yourself now trying to do more than you can handle." The mage sighed, but nodded, retreating towards his quarters. From his swaying, stumbling gait, Ike could definitely tell he needed the break.

Yet despite his worry for his friends, his heart could not have been lighter at that moment. Things would take time, of course, if this first session was anything to judge by. He would have to watch the participants in the healing procedure carefully—not only was it exhausting for Lethe, but it seemed it would tax both Soren and Rhys heavily too, and he couldn't risk their own lives or health any more than hers. Still, things were going well, and soon they would rescue Lethe from the brink of a mental destruction so horrible he hardly wanted to contemplate it.

"You'll be all right," he said softly, addressing the unconscious half-beorc form in the cage. "We're bringing you back."

Somehow, the words fit perfectly.

* * *

The next four weeks passed agonizingly slowly while they remained in the Begnion court. Healing treatments occurred every two to three days, once the participants had worked their strength back up, only to drain themselves completely to begin the cycle again.

Ike found himself worried for both Rhys and Soren almost as much as he worried over Lethe. Several times the frail priest had come down with bouts of fever or illness directly after a particularly eventful healing session, finding himself unable to move and bedridden for several days. He apologized profusely afterwards, knowing keenly that he had put the healing sessions on hold for his own health, even though the others insisted it was perfectly necessary and understandable.

Even Soren, expending vast amounts of energy to both concoct and enchant the antidotes, had come down with a fever at one point. Ike recalled dryly that a sick Soren, though rare, was never a good thing. It had forced Mist to cast a sleep spell on him regularly and set a guard on his room when he inevitably attempted to insist that he was "perfectly fine." No, a sick Soren was simply irrational, an odd paradox within itself.

Yet despite all setbacks, improvement was slowly but surely making itself evident. Lethe's actions had changed subtly, but she seemed to be regaining at least some small part of herself, giving Ike some sort of hope to grasp at.

Not that it had been obvious at first. Even a full week after the healing process had begun—well past their third session—Lethe had been aggressive and violent, throwing herself at the sides of her cage whenever any beorc passed too closely by. Indeed, her rabid yowling and screeching seemed to have gained in volume, ceasing only when she finally succumbed to a sleep spell, or the calming effects of Soren's antidotes.

But after a week Ike began to notice that, though still aggressive, Lethe's defensive radius seemed to have shrunk. Before, it was impossible to get within fifteen feet of the snarling feral laguz without endangering her. But after the fourth healing session, Ike found himself standing seven feet from the cage, facing a pacing, clearly agitated—but non-aggressive—orange cat.

Curious, but feeling elated, Ike began to implement his own plans. While Rhys and Soren continued to attack the ferality state with their own complex brand of healing, the mercenary commander tried another tactic, appealing to the trapped laguz' hidden mentality. Standing as close as he was able without triggering her shrieking anger, Ike talked to her.

He never spoke anything in particular, switching topics often in the hopes of sparking some sort of memory deep within the cat. At first he talked about anything that came to mind—his father, the war, their latest missions from the Apostle (still assigning them bandit-extermination missions), even his swordsmanship.

But as they pressed two and a half weeks into treatment, Ike began to notice a change. Lethe no longer paced in agitation when he came close, allowing him to approach completely to the side of the cage without hissing and spitting angrily. She still watched him warily when he visited her every day, but she no longer appeared distrustful—simply uninterested.

Encouraged, the mercenary leader began to draw on more recent memories, specifically ones that Lethe could relate to. He recounted their training sessions in great detail, as each discovered the advantages—or disadvantages—of their different fighting styles. He called upon memories of the missions they had taken and the fights they had encountered after Lethe had joined his troop, as Caineghis' representative. And though Lethe never seemed to care, at the end of the third week he began to notice one finely crafted orange ear cocking in his direction as he approached and spoke to her.

Her actions had been exclusive to Ike at first, it seemed. Her familiarity with him, and thus her acceptance, was readily apparent. But as his success became obvious, a few tentative others began trying similar tactics, moving forward to speak with her lowly and earn her limited feral trust. And soon others had an easier time approaching her as well; first Mordecai, then Rhys, and then even Zihark, who had since recovered and expressed concern over his laguz companion's situation.

Progress was slow, progress was subtle, but progress was there, and Ike reveled in it.

"Do not get your hopes up yet," Soren had told him carefully, but not even the mage's eternal pessimistic objectivity could bring the mercenary leader's spirit down.

* * *

Lethe was confused.

She still did not really understand what was happening to her—what had _been _happening to her—nor did her limited beast brain have a proper understanding of time. She did not know how long she had been in this cage, nor did she really care. She just wanted to be out.

But her mind was contemplating new sensations now, things that seemed—familiar--known senses, just like how she recognized scents, and sights, and tastes, but not quite the same because she felt it deep in her chest and deep in her mind, not in her nose or her mouth or her eyes...what _was _this?

Her beast mind, _It,_ did not understand _confusion, _just as it did not understand time, and was not sure how to deal with this new sensation. Nor did it understand _friendship, _or _compassion, _or _trust, _all feelings emanating from those strange deep places in her head and heart, and coming, too, from the creatures that approached her little cage. She could sense it in them, as clearly as she could smell their scents and see their bodies. There was no malice from them, no need to rip and tear and kill, and strangely, she felt no need to rip them and bleed them either.

_It _did not understand, but something deep within, something exhausted and crushed but still struggling, did.

Growling deep within its body, the cat tried to understand. It had known nothing but _PAIN_ for days, until these strange creatures with the familiar scents had shown up. Then it had known nothing but fury, the desire to hunt them all, kill them all, bleed them all, feast on them all...but it had never gotten the chance to.

After that, the feral beast had felt...it paused as another wave of unfamiliar confusion rolled over it. Pain? Unpain? _Better, _but not...not good, either. Something it could not comprehend, but always happened whenever the frail creatures approached it—the one that had captured cool light, and the other that smelled not-quite-right (the cat would never eat that scrawny dark thing. Something about it disturbed it profoundly). And whenever it happened, the cat was always left exhausted...and when it woke, confused, pelted with more and more strange sensations, vague understandings, soft sense-based memories, that touched at the edges of consciousness but never quite reached out to seize hold of its mind.

Confusion.

_It _still could not understand. What was happening?

The being deep inside struggled again, convinced _It _to pay attention to the strange noises the current creature outside its cage, the one that had visited every day for what felt like a very long time. Confused still, _It _swiveled its ears in the creature's direction—the one it had almost consumed—and focused intently with all of its limited willpower.

"...when you taught me how to strengthen my stance, remember. Even if I can't change into a cat like the rest of you laguz, learning how to move with a cat's grace has really helped my swordsmanship, Lethe."

_It _growled in frustration, and the thing outside paused, listened, and then returned to its talking. The noises made no sense to _It_; it could not comprehend the syllables and inflections that the thing used, and grew uninterested quickly.

But that something deep inside fought violently, triggered by the last noise the creature had made, and for mere seconds it fought to the surface. With all the willpower it possessed, it wrenched control, drew a shuddering breath, and uttered a single word raggedly. "L...lethhhhheeeeee..."

But then _It, _angry and confused, stripped control away once more, flicked its tail in aggravation, and turned away, clearly uninterested. _It _did not see the look of utter shock on the creature's face, nor did it respond to any of the urgent questioning that the thing pelted him with. It could not understand the noises, after all.

* * *

And that's the end of that chapter!

I know I said it was going to be the final chapter, but I lied. It ended up expanding to be quite a _long _last chapter, so I simply split it in two. This fic is officially finished though people, and you'll have the final installment (and epilogue) very soon.

As always, should you choose to review, kindly leave some substance to it. What are you liking? What isn't working? What could be done better? What's working well? Your constructive criticism is a very useful tool.

--Velkyn Karma


	10. Return

**Feral**

Final Part of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

* * *

"Loyalty isn't standing by someone when he's right...that's good judgment. Loyalty is standing by someone when he's wrong."

Susan Estrich

* * *

"I heard her say her name!" Ike growled in frustration, pacing in his improvised command center as he replayed the scene in his head again.

Titania watched him pace, feeling the disappointment of her commander—and charge—deeply. Since Soren was presently asleep (_for once_, she thought wryly) and had no way to explain the complexities of the healing process, she took it upon herself to calm the young mercenary in her own way.

"Relax, Ike," she said simply. "You knew this was going to take time. I know you're frustrated, but this won't help Lethe recover any faster."

"But I _know _I heard it!" Ike said, still looking irritated. "And that was five days ago...there's been two more healing sessions since then. If she could speak before, why can't she now? Is something going wrong?"

"You trust Rhys and Soren, don't you?" Titania said more than asked. "They know what they're doing. I'm sure everything is working completely fine."

"But I know I heard it!" Ike insisted.

"Are you sure?" Titania asked sensibly. "Maybe you mistook a growl for words." At Ike's look, she raised her hands, placating, and added, "I'm not disputing you, commander, but I don't think it's very healthy for you to get all worked up over what could be nothing."

The mercenary leader sighed and ran a hand through his shock of blue hair, but nodded grudgingly. "Maybe I misheard it," he admitted slowly. "I just want this whole mess to be over already, I guess. Lethe doesn't deserve this."

"I agree," Titania said with a nod. "But all we can do now is watch and wait, and trust that our healers know what they're doing. We--"

Whatever she had been about to suggest came to a crashing halt as the door opened with an equally loud _smash. _An excited Mist, panting heavily but with a look of elation on her face, came bounding into the room. She began speaking even as an irritable Soren poked a weary head from his own quarters in time to hear her news.

"Lethe talked to Mordecai!" she yelped excitedly.

Ike, shocked, honed in on the conversation immediately. "She did? For how long?"

"She had a whole conversation with him," the girl answered,a huge grin on her face. "In their own language—Mordecai was in his tiger form, I forgot—it sounded like a whole bunch of roars and growls and they moved their paws and ears a lot. But he said they talked—just about simple stuff—and she definitely understood him!"

The mercenary commander blinked in surprise, but then his expression cracked into a grin as he gave Titania a quick glance. She herself was pleased at the news as well—though she'd never really interacted with Lethe much, she respected the laguz for her ability and determination, and had been as worried as the rest when they found her in such a horrible state. But if she was able to hold a conversation, even a limited one...then things were at last approaching the final stages.

"Come on," Mist added, "Mordecai says he needs to talk to you about it, Ike. It's important!" The commander needed no further urging, darting after his sister with Titania hot on his heels. Even Soren, a bewildered and strangely expressive look on his face, followed after them with only a moment's hesitation.

* * *

The days following seemed to move with extraordinary speed. Healing sessions continued as normal, though Soren suspected there was little left that they could do, well into their sixth week of work. Lethe continued to hold limited—but increasingly more complex—conversations with Mordecai in their own laguz language, and kept an amazing focus on beorc speaking the common tongue with her. Often she would sit and listen to them for hours at a time, imitating familiar words when she could, forming basic sentences when she could gather the strength and will to fight back _It _from its weakening grip over her body. Her aggression had vanished completely; even beorc she had disliked could approach her cage without fear.

Lethe was coming back.

The true indication of their success came days later, however, when most of the mercenary group was present. Under the coaxing and example of Mordecai, with some encouragement from Ike, Lethe had concentrated hard and, with slow grace, had shifted into her half-beorc form willingly.

It had only lasted for a few minutes, and the poor cat had collapsed into unconsciousness soon after, but the power of the event was unquestionable. With the shift back into her true form, the grip that _It _held over her seemed to strain and break. Clarity flowed back to her slowly but surely, and that deep part of her that was truly _Lethe _clawed its way closer to the surface.

On that day, Ike unlocked her cage and let her walk free among her companions once again.

Only two more healing sessions followed after that. These were simple and quick, not nearly so powerful or draining as they had been previously, chasing away the last of the now-mild taint of ferality poison from her body. With each session she felt herself growing stronger, felt _It's _weak hold slipping away. With each session, too, she was able to hold her half-beorc form longer before falling back to her cat form with exhaustion.

As the last of the Overseer's vile poisons were expelled from her, she felt her strength returning completely, her mind belonging to her once again. With confidence, she took her half-beorc form once more, and remained in it, completely healed.

Lethe was back.

* * *

Lethe spent the next few days recovering from the tiring effects of the healing process. Most of her time was spent holed up in her private chambers, resting, but Ike wasn't too worried. He would speak to her when she was ready; for now, he had other business to attend to.

He found Soren in the suite of rooms acting as the Greil Mercenaries command center, studiously ignoring the beautiful weather outside in favor of more work. With the healing process completed, the staff-officer had returned to his original duties, which had been neglected in favor of studying the Overseer's vast amounts of notes. Now, quill in hand, the young mage was running over lists of supplies, financial accounts, and other reports, just as he had been for the entirety of the day.

"Soren!" Ike called, as he stepped through the heavy wooden door into the room. "I thought I'd find you here."

The staff-officer looked up, giving his commander a momentary glance. "Ike. Just the person I wanted to see. Some of our supplies and weaponry are running low, and I need to talk to you about restocking."

The mercenary leader shook his head in exasperation. "Do you _ever _stop working, Soren?"

"If I did, I would be a rather inefficient staff officer," the mage replied dryly. "I've fallen behind on my work as it is."

Ike shook his head again, but at least the dark lines under Soren's eyes had vanished, so he'd gotten _some _rest. "You don't have to work constantly, you know. I told you before—take a break, and don't bite off more than you can chew."

"Of course," Soren responded automatically, though they both knew perfectly well that he wouldn't be taking a break anytime soon. "If that was all you wanted to tell me, perhaps we could discuss restocking our stores--"

"Actually, there was something else," Ike said, his expression and voice becoming more serious. Soren met his eyes squarely, no doubt patiently awaiting orders, and his commander continued. "Thanks, Soren."

The mage looked bewildered—clearly he was not expecting the conversation to move in such a direction. "Excuse me?"

"I know that throughout this whole thing, you haven't really agreed with my decisions," Ike said. "In fact, sometimes you even argued against them, and I know you weren't happy with a lot of my final choices. But you stuck by me anyway, regardless of the consequences, and turned half a dozen hopeless situations into successes." He shrugged. "We wouldn't have—_I _wouldn't have—made it through any of this without your help. I want you to know I appreciate it, a lot."

Soren looked startled, but moved to smooth over his expression back to its usual emotionless, calculating look. "A staff-officer's duty is to support his leader, regardless of his own opinions," he said simply.

Ike gave him a look and raised an eyebrow. "Officers make decisions out of duty, sure," he agreed. "But friends make decisions out of loyalty." And he gave Soren that stern-but-friendly look that belonged to Ike alone. "Thanks."

The commander turned and exited the room calmly, off to take care of further errands, and left the thoroughly puzzled, but somehow pleased, staff-officer to his work.

* * *

Several days later, Ike approached the newly healed Lethe as she basked outside in the courtyard, still under orders to rest but much less willing to obey such commands. The laguz was flopped lazily underneath one of the trees in her half-beorc form, Mordecai only a few feet away and playing gently with a few tiny sparrows.

Ike wasn't really sure how to handle this interaction. He wasn't nervous about it really; he simply didn't know what to say, especially with someone as easily irked as Lethe. But it was a conversation that had to be made, and the mercenary leader was willing to grit his teeth and bear it. Besides, he wanted to see how Lethe was doing after her full recovery, and hadn't had a chance to speak to her since that last treatment.

The laguz looked up slowly as he approached her seat, twitching her long orange tail absently, and then hissed a greeting. "Hello."

"Hey, Lethe," Ike returned, closing the distance and sitting down on the ground across from her. "How're you doing?"

The cat sniffed distastefully. "The priest insists that I rest further," she said, sounding a little sullen, "as though I am weak as a beorc. The laguz recover quickly!"

"So you feel fine?" Ike pressed, ignoring the mild slight for now.

She sighed, but nodded. "Yes," Lethe admitted after a moment. "Much better. Strong and agile once more, and most of all, in control." The tiniest of shivers ran through her body then, invisible to all but those looking for it.

Ike had been looking for it.

"You okay?" he asked, with a concerned frown. They had known what happened to Lethe physically, of course, but nobody could really understand fully what had happened in her mind. Soren had made educated guesses based upon the Overseer's notes, and explained as much as he was able to his commander, but that was as much information as he was able to gather.

Still, Ike knew it had to be unpleasant, and had no doubts that Rhys' order of rest was for more than just Lethe's body.

"I'm fine," the cat answered stiffly, though her deliberate stare at one of Mordecai's fluttering sparrows suggested otherwise. While she looked away, Ike caught the large tiger's eyes, communicating his intents nonverbally. _Talk to her about it. _

Mordecai, understanding the glitter in his commander's eyes almost perfectly, nodded quietly. Of all of them, the tiger was the best able to understand what Lethe had been through, and he would help her however he could.

Lethe seemed to recover herself and returned her violet gaze to Ike curiously. "Did you need something? I do not feel like sparring today," she added sharply, noting one of the leader's hands resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword.

Ike shook his head immediately, removing his hand from the blade as he did so. "That's not why I'm here." He paused, considered, and then, with his usual blunt attitude, decided to simply dive on in. "I'm sorry, Lethe."

The cat looked confused. "You are apologizing?" A low hiss. "What for?"

Ike shrugged helplessly. "It was my decision that got you caught in the first place. I should have thought my orders through more closely before I sent you to check on bandits involved in laguz-capturing activity." He paused as Lethe flicked her tail angrily and growled low in her throat, but plowed right on. "And I'm sorry, too, that I had to keep you in that cage while you were being healed. I didn't want the others to get hurt while you were...not yourself...but it was still against my better judgment."

Lethe growled again, and then snarled sharply, "If it had been _any _other beorc that had ordered me put in that _thing, _I would have torn him to shreds even after I regained my senses." Another soft, almost unnoticeable shiver, but then the cat took a deep breath, and as Mordecai gave her a reproachful look, she continued. "But I understand now that you had no intentions of cruelty or slavery. I can..." another pause, a slight grimace, but then her face smoothed as she finished, "I can forgive you for that."

"As for the mission assignment," the laguz continued, before Ike could speak, "you should not apologize for that at all! You did give me the orders, yes. But I accepted them on my own, despite my own doubts, and went anyway." She scoffed. "Do not be foolish enough to try and take blame where there isn't any! It is not a good quality in a leader."

Ike had not quite expected to be berated when he went to make his apology, and abruptly burst into a soft bout of laughter as she finished. "Right," he agreed, once he had calmed down a bit, mostly under the cat's sullen glare. "I'll remember that for the future." Lethe snorted, a little irritably, and was not prepared for his next question. "How do you feel about beorc now?"

The laguz frowned and snapped her tail again, this time in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I know you really didn't like us beorc before," Ike commented absently, "and after some recent events, I can't say I can blame you for being a little distrusting still." He gave her a critical look. "At the same time, a lot of beorc around here were really worried for you."

Lethe paused, considering. Truth be told, she wasn't entirely sure what to think of the beorc anymore. The Overseer and his stinking underlings and been cruel and evil to the core, very much like she had expected any beorc to act.

At the same time, many of them had proven themselves to be as spirited and dedicated as her fellow laguz. She had found herself relieved to discover that Zihark had survived their encounter and was, in fact, recovering fully. When she had fully returned to herself, she had been almost astonished to learn that the entire mercenary company—mostly beorc—had set out to rescue their fellow member without so much as a pause of hesitation to bring her back, and had waited anxiously to see that she could be rescued. It was the beorc, and not the laguz, that had helped her defeat _It _(another shudder ran through her), and even that whining, skinny little shadow of Ike's had played a critical role in her recovery.

"Perhaps I was wrong," the cat admitted after a moment. "About _some _beorc," she added disdainfully, when Ike began to smile. "They can be trustworthy and loyal sometimes, I suppose."

"And worth befriending?"

"You go too far!" Lethe snapped, a little sullenly, but at Ike's persistent gaze she added a bit grudgingly, "but perhaps you are right there, as well."

Ike's stern but friendly smile met her own expression as he hoisted himself to his feet, resting his hand comfortably on his sword hilt again. Lethe watched the way the swordsman moved at ease with his odd beorc weapon, and on impulse snapped suddenly, "I apologize as well."

Now it was Ike's turn to look confused. "Huh?"

"I...attacked you," Lethe said, after a moment's hesitation. "And bit you. My teeth are sharp. I am sure it hurt."

Ike gave her another critical look, and then said calmly, "Didn't you just finish lecturing me about not apologizing for things beyond your control? You weren't yourself. It's fine." He waved his hand—the one that had been bitten—absently, and added, "besides, it was healed five minutes later, I barely even felt it."

Lethe was taken aback, but then recognized suddenly the challenge to her skill. "You lie!" she snapped, agitated. "My jaws are strong. You most certainly must have felt it."

Ike grinned. "Beorc are tougher than you think, Lethe. I hardly felt anything." The cat growled in frustration, but her temporary leader had already waved his hand and begun to walk off. "Take it easy Lethe. You can have as much time as you need to recover fully."

The cat hissed. "Stupid beorc!"

"Ike is a good leader," Mordecai said simply from behind her. "He takes care of his entire tribe very well."

Lethe snorted. "Perhaps." And he was stupid and irritating, just like any beorc, but...

Somehow, they didn't seem quite so bad anymore.

* * *

And that's the end of this (long and involved) fanfiction! I'm almost sorry to see it go...this one lasted the longest and was probably the most difficult fanfic yet for me to write.

Random fact: slippery Ike got out of discussing stores with Soren. :O Oh dear.

And now, a word to my readers. All I've gotta say, guys, is thanks a bunch! I certainly didn't expect this fic to be quite as popular as it was, but _Feral _has overshot all my other stuff in favorites, alerts, pageviews _and _reviews. It certainly couldn't have been done without all of you guys, so congrats for being awesome.

For those of you who enjoyed this fic, you may possibly be interested in the next one I'm writing as well. Because yes; I do, in fact, have another fic in the works. It's going to be long as hell and probably quite epic, and is based entirely around a simple 'what if...?' question...much like this fic was. If you liked this story, you'll probably enjoy the next one, so keep an eye out and we'll see what happens!

And finally: if you enjoyed this story, and you wish to leave a review, give it some substance! What, overall, was done well? What could have been done better? What did you like, and what didn't you like? Your suggestions only help me improve and make better fics!

And, once again, thanks to you all..

--Velkyn Karma


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